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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chapr_.L____ Copyright No... 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




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FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD 
AND FOREST 

* ~ ~v 

THE • ANIMALS • BIRDS 
FROGS • AND • SALAMANDERS 




BV ,/ 

F. SCHUYLER MATHEWS 

AUTHOR OF FAMILIAR FLOWERS OF FIELD AND GARDEN, 
FAMILIAR TREES AND THEIR LEAVES, FAMILIAR FEATURES 
OF THE ROADSIDE, THE BEAUTIFUL FLOWER GARDEN, ETC. 



WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
THE AUTHOR, AND PHOTOGRAPHS FROM 
NATURE BY IF. LYMAN UNDER J FOOD 




NEW YORK 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1898 



QZ.8I' 



8917 



Copyright, 1898, 
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 




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-LIVED. 



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PREFACE 



There are few things more gratifying to the 
lover of Nature than those momentary glimpses of 
wild life which he obtains while passing through the 
field or forest. Wild animals do not confine them- 
selves exclusively to the wilderness ; quite frequently 
they venture upon the highway, and we are apt to 
regard the meeting with one of them there as a rare 
and fortunate occurrence. 

The daisy and the wild rose appear in their ap- 
pointed places on the return of summer, and the song 
sparrow sings in the same tree he frequented the year 
before ; but the woodchuck, the raccoon, and the deer 
are not so often found exactly where we think they 
belong. To seek an interview with such wild folk is 
like taking a chance in a lottery : there are numerous 
blanks and but few prizes. 

But because wild life is not in constant evidence, 

like the wild flower, is no proof that it is uncommon. 

To those who keep in touch with Nature it becomes 

iii 



iv FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

a very familiar thing, and to live a while where the 
wild creatures make their homes is to cross their 
paths continually. I have not failed to meet that 
much-slandered animal, the skunk, every summer for 
seven years past, yet with no unhappy results ; I have 
haunted a fox's hole the better part of one season, 
and have evidently crossed his freshly made tracks, 
but with not one lucky chance at the sight of him ; 
yet when I had no thought of Reynard and was 
searching the woods for the Cypripedium, there he 
was ! On another occasion he was unexpectedly en- 
countered in the open pasture by some of the mem- 
bers of the household, and still later he was seen 
seated on the highway not very far from the pet cat. 

One can never tell at what moment some surpris- 
ing demonstration of wild life will occur at one's very 
doorstep. What with two deer, nine weasels, and a 
performing bear, all of which appeared in one day 
last summer close to my studio, I concluded that our 
tame mountain retreat had relapsed again to the wild 
and happy conditions of the primitive forest. But I 
was forced to change my mind a few days after, when 
an Italian with his organ ground out " Johnny, get 
your gun" within forty feet of the spot where the 
wild deer had stood. 

It may be largely a matter of good fortune if one 
catches a glimpse of some wild creature of the woods 



PREFACE. v 

in the way I have just described ; but in the forest it 
unquestionably depends upon the skillful movements 
and quiet demeanor of the observer that he can see 
without being seen. The wild animals never become 
familiar to one who is heedless and impatient. The 
waggle of a leaf or the snapping of a twig sends the 
timid borrower to the depths of his hole, and it 
requires more than the patience of Job to await his 
reappearance. It is necessary to count time by 
heart-throbs rather than seconds when one enters 
the woodland; indeed, it is possibly better to take 
no account of it at all, but lavish it generously upon 
chances. Perhaps such an apparent waste of time 
would be called loafing; if so, then Thoreau was a 
magnificent loafer. But loafers do not bequeath to us 
a world of woodland knowledge such as Thoreau did. 
We are at fault because we do not enter the 
wood and do a little thinking on our own account. 
Perhaps if we did we would discover that the deer, 
the marten, the loon, and the bear were not half so 
uncommon as we thought they were. ]STor can we 
rely wholly upon what the books say. Audubon, 
Wilson, Rymer Jones, and Elliott Coues are all well 
enough in their way, but they smack somewhat of 
ancient history. The development of natural history 
in this country is of very recent date ; one naturalist 
has informed me that up to about ten years ago one 



vi FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

of the most remarkable and typical little mammals 
of Florida, a water rat (Microtus neofiber allenii\ 
had absolutely no record whatever. In a pamphlet en- 
titled The Land Mammals of Florida, by Mr. Outram 
Bangs (1898), of seventy-three forms described, seven- 
teen are new. When Wilson wrote, in 1812, he knew 
positively nothing at all of the songs of the nightin- 
gale of America — the hermit thrush — and the veery, 
the thrush named for him ! Even in so late a book 
as The Fur-bearing Animals of Elliott Coues, the 
European ermine is confused with two of our Ameri- 
can weasels. Such an error as that in these days of 
greater light would be deemed inexcusable. 

It is to some of the younger students of Nature 
that we are indebted for a more concise knowledge 
of the relationship of animals — in other words, the 
exact identification of distinct species and varieties. 
Dr. Merriam makes this fact plain in the following 
tribute to the work of Mr. Bangs. He says : " Until 
very recently the group of weasels has been in a state 
of chaos, but now, thanks to Mr. Outram Bangs's ex- 
cellent paper entitled A Review of the Weasels of 
Eastern North America, the obscurity that has so 
long surrounded our Eastern species has been cleared 
away." * 

* Vide United States Department of Agriculture, Division of 
Ornithology and Mammals. Bulletin No. 11, June, 1896. 



PREFACE. vii 

There is more in a name in natural history than 
one would suppose. The change, in these latter days, 
of a Latin name generally means that the exact na- 
ture of the beast is at last discovered. For instance, 
the flying squirrel, Scvaropterus sabrin us, is a large, 
and in winter a distinctly yellow-tinged, gray-coated 
creature, whose white chest fur, if you blow it, is 
lead-colored at the base. The commoner species, 
Sciuropterus volans volans, is a different animal, 
whose under fur is quite white. Xot many years 
ago these two squirrels were not distinguished apart 
and therefore were known by one name. To-day 
the old name for the Virginia deer, Cariacus vir- 
ginianns, is displaced by the newer one, Odocoileus 
virginianus* The recent change means that until 
this last winter (1898) this particular species has not 
been properly distinguished apart from other species. 

But I can not lightly pass the old and inestima- 
bly valuable works of Audubon, Wilson, and Elliott 
Coues without a tribute to their excellence. These 
great naturalists were pioneers, and all they have to 
say is worthy of the closest study; consequently I 
have freely quoted such passages from their works as 
I considered would throw a strong light on the sub- 

* Vide Proceedings of the Biological Society of Washington, 
p. 99, 1898. 



viii FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

ject. Regarding Dr. Clinton Hart Merriam's Ani- 
mals of the Adirondacks, I can only add that I con- 
sider it a classic, and until some writer shall exceed 
its simple and attractive presentation of important 
facts, it must be regarded, as far as it goes, as the 
best biography of American animals which we to-day 
possess. 

It should be borne in mind that the times change, 
a scientific knowledge of animals grows, and the wild 
creatures themselves shift their position over the 
land. What was supposed to be uncommon or ex- 
tinct twenty years ago can not be regarded so to-day. 
The borders of abandoned farms are constantly — not 
rarely — invaded by animals who were not supposed 
to live within miles of the old places. Occasionally 
an otter, a lynx, a deer, or a bear turns up most un- 
expectedly, and immediately all the country turns out 
to hunt the creature down. 

Unfortunately, we have no proper appreciation of 
the inherent good in a wild animal ; one would think, 
by the way men acted, that it had no right to live. 
There is no logical reason why we should slay a 
snake, skunk, fox, weasel or raccoon unless it be- 
comes a public nuisance and we are compelled to 
put an end to its depredations. 

There is something satisfactory in the feeling of 
our own harmlessness in the presence of some poor 



PREFACE. i x 

frightened creature whose wild eyes betray the fear 
that we are a deadly enemy; and with what comfort- 
ing assurance we hasten to say, " No, you are greatly 
mistaken, I bear you no ill ; I am your friend." If 
only the poor tiling could know that, how much hap- 
pier the world would wag on ! 

One feels just a bit of exultant pleasure when one 
sees the little wild thing approach, timidly accept a 
proffered nut or a crust of bread, and actually eat it 
within reaching distance. I recall with no small 
feeling of satisfaction the time when, idly paddling 
my canoe beside the ^^ river bank, I met 
a great blue heron slow- ^^%^\ ^7 strolling 

along the sandy margin, ^^JIJP%V anc ^ 

remained beside him for fully ^|^P%k 
twenty minutes an acceptable com- \\ ij^ilk 

panion. Xor do I forget the time V. fpi|^! 
when I approached, softly whistling the H |l| 

while, a brown heron standing motion- \ H v 
less on the meadow, and got so near him 
that I could see the round shape of his eye as plain- 
ly as I have drawn it here. There is a certain 
charm in music for the wild animals. I have whis- 
tled by the half hour to the hermit thrush and have 
received an appreciative and cordial response ; the 
veery grows quite excited if I imitate his spiral 
song; the red squirrel sits transfixed if I play for 



X FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

him on an insignificant ten-cent harmonicon. One 
time I noticed a particularly vociferous fellow sub- 
side, cross his hands on his breast, and listen respect- 
fully to the soothing strains of " Home, sweet home." 

All this goes to prove that the wild life of the 
woods is not unapproachable. It may be difficult to 
cultivate its friendship, but it responds. It is an 
easy matter to pick a daisy and carelessly throw it 
away ; but when we have persuaded a wild biid or a 
squirrel to eat from our hand, we never throw the 
memory of that away : it abides with us forever ! 

Guns and traps are all very well in their way, but 
a conscience void of offense to the animal world is 
better. There never was a world more peculiarly 
beset with enemies of all kinds and degrees than the 
wild animal world ; it has to make a fight of life, 
anyway ; and then there is the common enemy, man, 
to reckon with, who crushes the snake, hunts the fox 
and bear, worries the woodchuck, shoots the bird, traps 
the marten, kills the deer, and makes war generally 
upon all wild life without discrimination. One of these 
days, when the cutworm, the grasshopper, the field 
mouse, the army worm, and the gypsy moth devour the 
farm, house and all, we will wonder what has become 
of the beneficent skunk, weasel, and snake. Per- 
haps we have yet time enough to give these poor crea- 
tures a chance to learn we are friends, and not enemies. 



PREFACE. -v-i 

I have no excuse for these imperfect records of 
my own experience with wild animals except the one 
that I have lived long enough among them to respect 
their rights of life and sj)eak a good word for them 
when occasion offers. There is only one creature I 
know of who seems to be a thoroughly ugly char- 
acter, afflicted with a most uncontrollable and vicious 
temper — that is, the Injun Devil, or wild cat {Lynx 
canadensis). Fortunately, he rarely appears this side 
of the Canadian border; when he does, the hunter 
gives him no peace, for there is no peace where he 
exists. 

I wish to add, that without the valuable assistance 
of Prof. Samuel Garman, Mr. Outram Bangs, and 
Mr. Samuel Henshaw, which I most gratefully ac- 
knowledge, I never would have been able to gather 
together the latest scientific facts regarding the ani- 
mals. Also, the book would have lost much without 
Mr. W. Lyman Underwood's contribution of photo- 
graphs from Nature. But the fact is, two heads are 
always better than one ; and consequently the book, 
which is not the selfish outcome of one man's 
thoughts, escapes at least one fault — it is not one- 
sided. 

F. Schuyler Mathews. 

El Fureldis, Blair, Campton, N. H., 
May, 1898. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I.— Early voices of spring 1 

II. — The croakers 22 

III. — SONGLESS BATRACHIANS 36 

IV. — Our ancient enemy the ophidian .... 57 

V. — Accomplished vocalists 81 

VI. — Strange creatures with strange voices . . 96 

VII. — Furry friends with fine skins .... 112 

VIII. — Fur-clad fighters 127 

IX. — Two famous swimmers 147 

X. — That famous essence peddler .... 161 

XI. — The king of the wilderness 180 

XII. — A MISCHIEVOUS NEIGHBOR 202 

XIII. — The farmer's sly neighbor 213 

XIV. — A FLEET-FOOTED NEIGHBOR IN THE WOODS . . 228 

XV. — A SEMIANNUAL SLEEPER AND A NIGHTLY PROWLER . 245 

XVI. — Small folk with lively feet 259 

xiii 



LIST OF FULL-PAGE ILLUSTKATIOXS. 



FACING 
PAGE 



Young foxes Frontispiece 

The muskrat 2 

Pickering's hyla 6 

The bullfrog 31 

The home of the red salamander 47 

The banks of the Pemigewasset, the home of the black- 
billed cuckoo 85 

The yellowhammer 87 

The bittern 98 

The Pemigewasset River, at Blair's bridge, and the Shel- 
drake — Merganser serrator 105 

The wolverene . 114 

The mink 149 

The otter 157 

"A particularly clever skunk" 172 

At the twilight hour, Mt. Chocorua, White Mountains . 183 

Black bear 191 

The raccoon 203 

" Out of harm's way, treed " 207 

xv 



xv i FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



FACING 
PAGE 



" On the whole, he is a good-natured beast " .210 

A glimpse of a family of foxes 218 

Young foxes 222 

Young deer 233 

Deer in Blue Mountain Park, Newport, N. II. . . . 238 

The porcupine 254 

"It was not difficult for him to climb a tree" . . . 258 

The gray rabbit 200 

Chipmunk 274 



FAMILIAR LIFE 
IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



CHAPTER I. 

EARLY VOICES OF SPRING. 
The Hyla< Acris, Chorophilus, and Bufo. 

The path that follows the course of the stream 
through the meadow is bordered with miniature 
leaflets which are growing rapidly in the sunbeams 
of early April. The young fuzzy leaves of the liver- 
wort (Hepatica triloba) at our feet are in company 
with a few promising buds, but the old brown leaves 
that have survived the winter snows are still reluc- 
tant to give up life and let the younger generation 
carry it forward. The brook is rushing tumultuously 
toward the river, with no time to linger now in the 
pebbly depths where last August all was quiet, and 
the lazy trout scarcely moved his tail to keep his 
place under the sheltering bank. Farther along 
where the brook widens at the level of the river, in 

a snarl of freshet- dragged alders and willows, there 
2 l 



2 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

is a muskrat busily engaged in gnawing a tender 
twig, all impatience and hurry ; possibly the creature 
is building a nest. As we wander along a little far- 
ther a little green snake in the new grass glides out 
of our path. But we pass on ; we must reach the 
hollow in the meadow where strange, shrill voices 
are piping in a chorus more deafening than the ves- 
per hymn of the million sparrows which congregate 
on the bare twigs of the trees in the old graveyard 
of King's Chapel, in Boston, at five in the afternoon. 

At last we reach the grassy margin of a shallow 
pool, only to find — nothing ! And somehow we have 
succeeded in silencing the innumerable voices. Ap- 
parently there is nothing to do but to sit down on 
the end of a neighboring log and patiently wait. 
Soon a venturesome peeper begins again ; then an- 
other, and another, until in about ten minutes the 
chorus is going again full blast. It proceeds from a 
hundred little throats of frogs less than an inch long, 
all but invisible in the shallow pool. 

Hyla picheringii — for this is the name of the 
noisy creature — is a familiar representative of the 
HylidcB family, and is the earliest piper of spring in 
the cold bogs and meadows of the hill country. Far- 
ther south the rattling note of the cricket frog is 
heard quite as early, and even that of the common 
toad. But Pickering's Hyla starts in with emphatic 




THE MUSKRAT. 
FIBER ZIBETHICUS. 

" Busily engaged in gnawing 
a tender twig." 

Photographed from life by 
W. Lyman Underwood. 



EARLY VOICES OF SPRING. 3 

insistence on the fact that spring is here, notwith- 
standing the patches of meadow snow and ice which 
still linger on the shadowy borders. The more 
southern pipers do not have to brave these last foot- 
prints of the winter king so continually, and I can 
not therefore consider them the earliest of all spring 
singers. 

It is a most remarkable circumstance that Picker- 
ing's Hyla is always heard, but is seldom seen. He 
has a disappointing way of 
submerging himself to his 
very eyelids in the chilly bog. 
With the mercury at fifty de- 
grees he will pipe up at about 
four or five in the afternoon. If 
we wish to catch him in the act 
we must choose a warmer day, 
when the mercury stands at sixty spring Peeper 

degrees, sit patiently and immova- ™£S£Z2^ 
bly on the log for a good half hour, 
and scan the surface of the pool near the margin with 
an opera glass. Here we will be sure to see the bulgy 
eyes and the tip of the nose just appearing above 
the water, and if we are fortunate, we may see one 
of the tiny ocher-yellow creatures perched on some 
withered cat-tail leaf, singing his song in plain view 
through the glass. Such a tremendous effort he 




4 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

makes to throw out the liquid whistle, no wonder it 
can be heard on a still afternoon nearly a quarter of 
a mile away ! Beneath his chin the skin is swelled 
out like a brownish-white bubble half the size of his 
whole body. Imagine a man swelling his throat 
thus until it took a balloon shape fully three feet in 
diameter, and then letting the thing collapse with a 
deafening scream that could be heard fully eighteen 
miles ! Yet this, supposing the Hylds size and voice 
could be proportionately increased, is exactly what 
would happen. 

The muscular effort which the tiny creature 
makes to empty his lungs seems not only to collapse 
the "bubble," but most of the body, so that when 
he has let out one shrill whistle there is apparently 
nothing left but his back, head, and legs. But in 
another instant he has swelled again, and the per- 
formance goes on with no evidence that even the 
smallest blood-vessel will burst. Different individu- 
als answer each other in different tones, but the 
dominant one is E slurred to F, in the highest 
octave on the piano, nj= 72 , j i and the song 
is pitched — by a 1 JL\> : slight effort 



of the imagination J — in the key 

of F minor. Other individuals with larger throats 
disturb this key by singing thus, | § f % jT^ l an( ^ s *^ 
others exasperatingly out of time \W 1 5 and tune 



EARLY VOICES OF SPRING. 



sing either sharp or flat. So the whole effect is shrill 
rather than melodic, notwithstanding the fact that 
the F is constantly suggesting the finale of a plaintive 
melody. 

But that is just like Xature — she is ever suggest- 
ing, and leaving all beyond to our imagination. A 
close examination of the body of the 
little frog emphasizes this fact. 
There is a strong suggestion of a 
Saint Andrew's cross on his ocher- 
colored* back, unmistakably defined 
in narrow lines, and a narrow dark 
line extends from the tip of the nose 
to the eye. The X is quite suffi- 
ciently plain to prevent any con- 
fusion in the identification of Hy- 
la jpickeringii with young tree 
toads (Hyla versicolor), or with other frogs of simi- 
lar size and color, for no other small frog is marked 
with a cross. 

This Hyla is a characteristic tree frog, who with 
his padded toes ascends the tallest trees with ease, 
and takes to the water only for a brief time in 
spring, which is his nuptial season. When the 




* SpriDg Peeper, 
showing the St. An- 
drew's cross on 
the back. 



* It may be slightly green, as the frog possesses to a certain 
degree the power of color change. 



6 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

breeding season is over, about the first of July,* he 
may still be found — but rarely — among the damp, 
fallen leaves of the woods, or even in cellars. How 
the creatures manage to keep themselves so com- 
pletely out of sight in spring and summer is always 
a mystery. It is not until the latter part of August 
that they ascend the trees, and only once in a Jong 
while have I heard the plaintive but unmistakably 
clear whistle of one in the woods toward the close of 
September. Prof. E. D. Cope speaks of the autum- 
nal voice of this frog thus : " When the wind is cast- 
ing the first frosted leaves to the ground, a whistle, 
weaker than the spring cry, is heard repeated at in- 
tervals during the day, from one part of the forest 
to another, bearing considerable resemblance to the 
note of the purple finch (Carpodacus purpureus) 
uttered while it is flying." 

The geographical distribution of Pickering's Hyla 
is extensive. He is found from east of the Central 
Plains to the Atlantic, and from Canada to Florida 
and Texas. 

The form of this Hyla approaches that of a 
more southern genus called Chorophilus, one species 

* It is a remarkable fact that this Hyla is apt to choose tempo- 
rary pieces of water in the hollows of the meadow for its breeding 
places, because, as the season advances and the water evaporates, 
whole colonies of its tadpoles dry up and miserably perish in the 
hot sun. 




PICKERING'S HYLA. 
HYLA PICKERINGII. 

"In the latter part of August 
they ascend the trees." 



EARLY VOICES OF SPRING. 



of which I describe farther on, but it has larger 
"footpads." 

The cricket frog, or Savannah cricket (A oris gryl- 
lus), a little creature a trifle over an inch long, com- 
monly found as far north as southern New York, is 
the only known representative of this genus. In 
more southern marshes — those, for instance, of 
New Jersey — we may happen to hear both Pick- 
ering's Hyla and the cricket frog singing in com- 
pany. 

But Acris gryllus has a distinct voice of his own. 
He does not whistle an uninterrupted note, but 
breaks into musical crepitations some- 
what resembling the broken tone of 
a rattle whistle. His voice has the 
same character as that of the 
common toad, but its quality is 
more nearly like that of the tree 
cricket. More than one natural- 
ist has suggested its likeness to 
the rapid striking together of two 
pebbles, but to my ear the pebbles are not musical 
enough ; impart to them some of the cheery jin- 
gle of sleighbells and then I will admit the simili- 
tude. 

In appearance the cricket frog altogether differs 




ife_'A 



Savannah Cricket 
{Acris gryllus). 




8 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

from the Hyla y there are no distinct pads on the 
toes,* and consequently he seldom if ever ascends 
trees or bushes. His general color is variable. With 
the tree toad {Hyla versicolor) he possesses a cer- 
tain power of color change, or metachrosis, and 
while he may be dull green in an environment of 
green leaves, among dead ones he is quite as like- 
ly to be brown. There is a very characteristic 
blackish, triangular patch between the eyes, the 
apex of which is directed backward. This is 
margined by a light color, sometimes greenish, 
sometimes rusty, and as often dull white. This 
marginal color of the triangle is continued in a 
dorsal stripe to the end of the body. The ex- 
treme northeasterly limit of this frog is New Haven, 
Conn. 

But there are two varieties of this Acris, differ- 
ing slightly in form and appearance from the species 
proper ; one of northern distribution is called Acris 
gryllus crepitans, and another of southern distribu- 
tion (from North Carolina to Florida and Louisiana) 
is called Acris gryllus gryllus. With the latter we 
have nothing to do, as it is south of our range ; but 
the former is likely to engage our attention in the 



* These are furnished, however, with very slightly enlarged 
disks. 



EARLY VOICES OF SPRING. 



West as far north as Illinois, and also in the East in 
southern Pennsylvania.* 

William Hamilton Gibson has made a most truth- 
ful drawing of the Acris gryllus crepitans to ac- 
company his article in Harper's Young People for 
March 25, 1890. Dr. Abbott also frequently refers 
to Acris crepitans^ but I question whether either 
he or Mr. Gibson actually heard this species. It is 
far more likely that they heard the Acris gryllns ; 
still, I have no means of positively knowing this. 
According to Professor Cope, Acris 
gryllns crepitans has no record east of 
Carlisle, Pa. 

The subspecies Acris gryllus 
crepitans has three oblique blotches on 
the sides, which are very prominent, & 

,,,,., -, , „ Savannah Cricket 

and the limbs are muscular and well (Acris gryiius 

developed.} crepitans). 

The note of this species, it is said, may be ex- 

* More particularly in Carlisle, Cumberland County. 

f Vide Outings at Odd Times, pages 107, 108 ; also Days Out of 
Doors, pages 34-37. I doubt very much though, whether the Acris 
can whistle and crepitate too. This would be contrary to Xature, 
for reasons which are too many for me to explain. 

X Professor Cope also gives the following anatomical defini- 
tion of this subspecies : " Acris gryllus crepitans. Hinder foot, not 
including the tarsus (that part of the foot above the instep), less 
than half the length of head and body combined ; skin tubercles 
larger ; posterior femoral (hind leg) stripe less distinct." 




10 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

actly imitated by striking two marbles together, first 
slowly, then faster and faster, for a succession of 
about twenty or thirty beats. The noise can not be 
heard at a very great distance. 

The little frog is prominently marked on the 
back with green, and has the same dark triangle on 
the crown as that described for the species proper. 
He remains in the tall grass around the marsh, and 
seldom if ever ascends a tree or bush. When pur- 
sued he leaps extraordinary distances and invariably 
makes for the water, into which he disappears just 
as we reach the margin after much clumsy slumping 
through the bog and vain grabbing at the unattain- 
able. Only one who has lost a frog this 
way knows anything about the sudden men- 
tal activity of the baffled pursuer as he 
stands gazing at the mocking ripples. 

The genus Acris is distinguished for 
its swimming powers. Look at my draw- 
Hindieg i n g f the hind leg and note the webbed 

(^4. gryllus 

crepitans), toes ; now compare this with the hind leg 
of Chorophilus triseriatus (page 11), and it will be 
seen that the latter can not be much of a swimmer. 

The Chorophilus triseriatus, another singer in 
early spring, about the same size as the cricket frog, 
may be heard in the West, and in the East as far 
north as central New Jersey. This frog is ash-gray 





EARLY VOICES OF SPRING. H 

striped with three brown lines, or sometimes fawn 
color with the brown stripes broader; the yellow- 
white beneath is distinctly granulated. 
Professor Cope says, "It delights in 
those small and often temporary pieces 
of water which are inclosed in the 
densest thickets of spiny Smilax and 
Hubus, with scrub oaks, and sur- 

, .. , . , , . sy i Three-striped Frog 

rounded by the water -loving Uepfi- (chorophiius 
alanthuS) where no shade interrupts 
the full glow of sunlight. Here the little frogs may 
be heard in the hottest part of the day, accompanied 
by a few Acris gryllus, or rarely a Hyla pickeringii 
.... As they scarcely swim, when surprised they 
seek refuge in the edge of the water, with so little 
movement that their capture is no easy matter." 

In southwestern New Jersey the swamps 
resound with the rattling notes of these 
frogs throughout the spring and sometimes 
in the summer. They sing not only in 
the evening but at midday, just as the com- 
mon toad does. The music is extremely 
Hindieg soft— rising, swelling, and subsiding like 
(c. triseri- fae waves of the seashore. I can best 

atus). 

represent the song of a single singer 
thus : . Q ~~~ | ^| The crepitations are not so 
loud Ivy **' * i I as those of the Acris, nor 




12 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOEEST. 

have they the same ringing, sleigh-bell quality. The 
tone is also of a much lower pitch, and it very 
slightly approaches in quality the bleating tone of the 
tree toad. 

According to Professor Cope, this frog is com- 
mon in Gloucester County, N. J., and Chester Coun- 
ty, Pa. ; but since the time in which he wrote (1889) 
I am inclined to think that the frog has found his 
way farther to the northeast, and he ought to be 
heard now in Staten Island and the vicinity. I have 
certainly heard his voice in the pine barrens not far 
from Lake wood, N". J. 

I can not sufficiently emphasize the fact that 
every species of living thing has its own particular 
voice. When once we have heard a single Picker- 
ing's Hyla, we have heard the characteristic voice of 
that species, and it is not to be confused for one 
moment with that of any other species. The com- 
mon frog's droning note can not be mistaken for the 
rattling note of the Chorophilus, or the ringing, 
jingling note of the Acris / nor is the quality * of 
the note of any one of these species I have named 
like that of the bubbly-bleaty note of the tree toad. 



* This, in music, we call " timbre." When I change my tenor 
voice and sing a falsetto note, and thus imitate the soprano voice, 
I have altered the timbre of the note ; although it may still be A, 
its quality is no longer the same. 



EARLY VOICES OF SPRING. 13 

I can imitate Hyla pickeringii by shrilly whistling 
E slurred to F in the highest octave on the piano; 
I need a bass viol to imitate the bullfrog {Ran a 
catesliana) ; I am sure I do not know how to copy 
the tree toad's note, unless by making a bleating 
sound with the lips ; I must have a rattle whistle to 
imitate the Acris ; and I must hum one note and 
whistle another to approximate the droning note of 
the toad. A big chorus of the Hyla and Acris 
sounds like jingling sleighbells; a medley of the 
larger batrachians' voices is like the " tuning up " of 
a string orchestra. 

Quite nearly related to the genus Chorophilus is 
the genus Hyla* one species of which {Hyla picker- 
ingii) I have already noticed. There are but two 
other Hylce whose range extends north of North 
Carolina : one is Hyla versicolor (of the same range 
as Hyla pickeringii), and the other is Hyla ander- 

* The genus Hyla includes fully one half of the large HylidcB 
family, which seems to have been created to inhabit the leafy part 
of the world — especially the tropical part — for the special purpose 
of holding in check the prolific insect life which might otherwise 
do an inestimable amount of injury to vegetation. It is the case, 
therefore, that in those regions where vegetable life abounds there 
is a proportional increase in the number of species. I question 
very much whether one could conscientiously kill a toad or a frog 
who had a full knowledge of the immense number of insects it 
devoured within a year's time, and the extent of harm that these 
might have worked on vegetation. 



14 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 




sonii, an extremely rare frog found from New Jer- 
sey to Georgia. As only three individuals of this 
last species had been found up to 1889, we must pass 

it as an unfamiliar phase of 
swamp life, and turn our 
attention to the very com- 
mon Hyla versicolor. 

This is the frog fa- 
miliarly known as the 
tree toad, which inhabits 
every hedgerow and tree- 
girt marsh throughout the 
country. Professor Yerrill 
records this species as being 
found at Norway, Me., 
which is considered the most easterly point of its 
range; but at Campton, N. H., scarcely sixty-three 
miles west of Norway, I have found this frog, if not 
common, at least so plentiful that I have heard him 
sing every season for the last ten years. It would 
seem reasonable, then, to move his easterly limit still 
farther east than Norway. Wherever there are 
woodlands bordering a marsh or pond, there he will 
be sure to be heard, at least in June ; and I have 
no doubt but that his voice may be a familiar one 
in some of the wooded swamps near Portland. 

This remarkable tree toad has a compact, squat- 



Tree Toad {Hyla vesicolor). 



EARLY VOICES OF SPRING. 15 

looking figure, the outline of which at all points 
might easily touch the circumference of a circle. 
The head is broader than it is long. The back of 
the creature is generally ashen gray, with strange 
blotches of green here and there ; but we must not 
forget that he can change color, and in an envi- 
ronment of leaves and grass he is decidedly green. 
Again, on a lichen-covered log he is quite likely to 
be brown-gray, and on the rough trunk of the swamp 
maple (Acer rvbrwn) an uncompromising brown. 
In fact he possesses the power of metachrosis (color 
change) to a wonderful degree ; hence his specific 
title versicolor. This change, however, is not accom- 
plished quickly. His back is covered with warty 
excrescences ; beneath his body, on the lighter skin, 
are distinct granulations; and a characteristic loose 
fold extending across the chest indicates that he does 
not " fit his clothes." 

The eggs of Hyla versicolor are laid in small 
packets on blades of grass, slender sticks, and the 
stems of weeds, in shallow pools. All through the 
breeding season, in May or June, the bleating note 
of this frog may be heard after the sun goes down, 
in different parts of the swamp, one voice respond- 
ing to another, or perhaps both mingling. I have 
counted about eight notes given out in one second 
and a half. This is a fair average utterance of one 



16 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

individual. Intervals of about four seconds and a 
half occur with indifferent regularity. One can not 
quite depend on the tree toad for synchronous 
effect ; it is a sort of go-as-you-please musical con- 
versation which he keeps up, very often confused 
by two or three speaking at the same time ; but the 
winning little voices are pleasing and entertaining, 
and the " word " that is passed around is reassuring. 

There are rarely more than three or four of these 
frogs congregated in one spot, and it may often be 
quite a distance to the next assembly. The voices 
are strung along in the dusk of evening somewhat 
thus : 

D , 1 = l6 ° lsf.voice 2nd. 3rd. 4th. 



ui\iiaiiij \ mmt^ sm 



By the time No. 4 begins No. 1 breaks in again, 
and we have a duet ; then comes No. 2 alone ; 
then No. 3 accompanied by No. 4 ; and presently, in 
the irregularity of the succession, we have a trio. 
Imagine a few tiny lambs bleating thus : " Tur-r-r-r-t, 
Tre-t-t-t-t," and the simile is as complete as I can 
make it. Later in the season these voices come from 
the hedges and the orchards ; the frogs have left their 
aquatic retreats. A Mr. Geismar, who kept several 
in his vivarium, has recorded a remarkable instance 
of their domestication. Both window and vivarium 



EARLY VOICES OF SPRING. 



17 




The 
' foot-pads " of 
the Tree Toad. 



being left open during part of the day the frogs 

would leave the house and establish themselves on 

the trees in the orchard, where their 

voices could be heard throughout the 

evening. During the night they would 

return to the house, and would appear 

in their usual places in the morning. 

Hyla versicolor is not only remark- 
able for his change of color and his 
winning voice, but also for his "foot 
pads," my drawing of which will show 

their high development. Not- 
ing these strange little 
disks on the tips 
of the toes, which 
closely adhere to 
the surface on 
which the crea- 
ture stands, the 
fact will not ap- 
pear so surprising 
that he can stand near- 
ly upside down ! It is 
perfectly plain, too, by 
the webbed feet, that the little acrobat is a fair 
swimmer. 

Last, but by no means least among the batrachian 
3 




18 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

singers of spring, comes the common toad {Bufo 
americanus). The poor, brown, warty creature 
which is so repulsive in appearance, and which one 
shudders to touch, possesses one of the sweetest 
voices of spring — a dreamy, lulling, musical voice, 
well fitted to sing the slumber song of Nature, and 
transport every living thing in woodland and mead- 
ow to the mysterious land of dreams. The birds, it 
is true, may be thus sung to sleep, but not so with all 
the rest of the animal creation ; most of it delights 
to prowl about all night long, just as Robert Louis 
Stevenson says, and none of it cares a straw for an 
accompanying nocturne : 

" The squalling cat and the squeaking* mouse, 
The howling dog by the door of the house, 
The bat that lies in bed at noon, 
All love to be out by the light of the moon." 

By moonlight the song of the toad seems even 
more entrancing ; but cat and weasel, coon and 
skunk, fox and bat — all are intent on prey, and our 
lullaby singers make some of it. 

Every dweller in the country is familiar with the 
voice of Bufo americanus. In the breeding season, 
from April to June, the toad resorts to the swampy 
parts of the meadow, and there winds his horn for 
the delectation of his mate. The sound is a some- 



EAELY VOICES OF SPRING. 19 

what cricketlike but prolonged " Wur-r-r-r-r-r," 
which can be closely imitated by humming and soft- 
ly whistling the following notes together : 
In a large congregation of toads the gg 



J Wr-r r-r 



m 



5 



chorus, by no means shrill or noisy, is 
remarkable for its effect of harmony. 
Although the note is sustained, it is 
broken by exceedingly rapid crepitations which it is 
impossible for the ear to follow. The " locust," 
which, years ago, boys used to construct from a 
soda-bottle neck, a piece of kid glove, a woven bit 
of horsehair, and a stick, produced a very similar but 
less musical sound. In singing, the toad swells his 
throat to a whitish, bubblelike form, which collapses 
when the sound ceases ; then after two or three 
movements of the lips, as though to pucker them 
for another effort, he swells up again, and continues 
for the space of about seven seconds more. He re- 
peats this performance an indefinite number of times, 
and finally, upon a slight and sudden movement of 
the observer, disappears among the weeds on the 
border of the pond. So much for his " Liebeslied." 

In some secluded part of the pond the female de- 
posits the eggs, which are inclosed in a long, thick- 
walled tube of transparent albumen, in the water. 
These tubes lie in long spiral strings on the bottom, 
and the dark-colored young hatch out quite early. 



20 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

Finally, after the consummation of the metamorpho- 
sis, they appear in a completed form (tinier than that 
of the Hylce at the same age) along the margin of 
the water — veritable pygmy toads. 

In midsummer the toad takes up his abode under 
one's doorstep, and issues forth in the early evening 
to secure his insect food. I have a great admiration 
for a certain big fellow who frequents my garden 
during the night season and makes way with an im- 
mense number of insects. He is not disturbed by 
my presence in the cool of the evening when I water 
the flowers, and hops about in and out among the 
poppies and nasturtiums with full confidence that his 
presence there is welcome. I know exactly where 
his home is (under the front steps) and can tell pretty 
nearly at what time he will sally out in the gloaming. 
He is undoubtedly a creature of systematic habits, 
and possesses but one fault: he strays beyond the 
garden limits, and establishes himself about 10 p. m. 
on the plank walk outside. Here he is in constant 
danger of being stepped upon with others of his kind 
who will not stay in the grass. 

If one has not an unconquerable aversion to toads 
it is worth while to corner a big fellow and scratch 
him on the back. If he is scratched on the right 
side he will lean over that way, just as a cat does 
whose cheek is rubbed ; if scratched on the left side 



EARLY VOICES OF SPRING. 21 

he leans to the left ; if scratched on both sides he 
squats with content, and, I imagine, an expression 
of satisfaction settles in his fishy eye. 

I do not suppose a toad has any parasite to bite 
his tough, warty back ; the frog, though, does unfor- 
tunately have a certain low parasitic form of life 
which inhabits his blood. * About every creature 
in the world, however, is likely to furnish another 
smaller world for yet smaller creatures to live in, and 
the frog is no exception to the rule. There is more 
truth than nonsense in the suggestive doggerel that 
runs : 

" Little fleas have lesser fleas upon their backs to bite em, 
And these fleas have lesser fleas, ad infinitum. 
Great fleas have greater fleas upon their backs to go on, 
And these fleas have greater fleas and greater fleas, and 
so on ! " 

* There have been certain sausagelike parasites discovered in 
the blood of Rana esculenta. Dr. Gaule found in this frog's red 
blood-corpuscles, mobile corpuscles, elongate, and pointed at the 
extremities. These issued from the cells, which they could drag 
after them for some time, but after a while became motionless, and 
finally died and disappeared. 



CHAPTEE II. 

THE CROAKERS. 
Familiar Members of the Tribe Eana. 

We have already considered the soloists of the 
batrachian orchestra, and now the musicians who 
represent the 'cello and the bass viol must engage 
our notice. A hundred croaking voices reach our 
ears from the vicinity of the frog pond, and many of 
them possess a distinct individuality. The " croaks " 
are not all alike : there is the basso profundo of the 
bullfrog, the barytone of the green frog, and several 
other strange tones of still stranger batrachians, all 
of which are easily distinguished apart. 

The genus Rana* to which these croakers be- 
long, is an extensive division of the large family 
Ranidce. It includes no less than one hundred and 

* The frogs belonging to the genus Rana are well protected 
from their enemies by an extremely acrid secretion of the skin. 
Cats and dogs avoid them as a rule, not, however, without excep- 
tions ; but snakes appear to differ in their tastes, and the great 
number of frogs they swallow in the springtime is beyond calcu- 
lation. — Cope, 
22 



THE CROAKERS. 



23 



eight species, according to Mr. Boulanger, but of 
these only six are common enough in our northeast- 
ern States to attract our notice. These are : 

1. Rana virescens virescens, the leopard frog ; a 
subspecies of Rana virescens (Rana halecina, of other 
authors), a bright-green frog found along our seacoast 
and the adjacent country. 

2. Rana palustris, a light-brown frog found in 
cold springs and streamlets. 

3. Rana sejytentrionalis, a round-spotted frog 
found in northern Xew York and the northwest. 

4. Rana clamata, the green frog, common every- 
where. 

5. Rana catesbiana, the bullfrog, the largest spe- 
cies of all, also common. 

6. Rana sylvatica, the wood frog, common every- 
where in our woodlands. 

The prettiest fellow of them all is 
the leopard frog, Rana virescens 
virescens, about two and 
half inches long. A 
bright copper - col- 
ored line begins at 
his nose and ends 
at his eye ; a sec- 
ond line of yellow- 

Leopard Frog 
lSh white reaches (Rana virescens virescens). 




24 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

from the nose to the shoulder. The eyes are large 
and prominent, the nose is pointed, and the general 
color of the body above is yellowish green marked 
with oval spots of olive margined with bright yellow. 
These spots are arranged in two rows on the back, 
and in two others less distinct on the sides. Under- 
neath, the body is silver- white at the mouth and yel- 
low-white at the abdomen. There is a characteristic 
longitudinal band on the front of the thigh. 

This species is found in great numbers in the 
swamps that border the creeks and rivers of the At- 
lantic coast ; but inland, except in the Mississippi 
Valley, it is rather rare. According to Professor 
Cope, with the Acris gryllus it is the first species 
heard in spring, and although a single voice is not 
loud, the noise produced by thousands of them close 
at hand is deafening, and can be heard many miles 
away. This frog " clucks " almost exactly like a hen, 
and in about the same key : j_ 72 
but the noise of a large |^)'. E f- f- f- f- f : 
number sounds more like a 

number of ducks quacking, but not without a de- 
cidedly musical ring. I can not, of course, indicate 
what difference there may be between the voices of 
the species proper (Rana virescens or Rana halecina) 
and this subspecies, but I am inclined to believe that 
there is none. 



THE CROAKERS. 



25 



Rana palustris is a frog of the same size as 
Rana virescens virescens, but of entirely different 
color and tune. His voice is hoarse, and his note is a 
long, low croak, resembling, as Professor Cope says, 
the tearing of some coarse material ; I should suggest 
burlap, and add that the tone is anywhere 
from F to A below middle C on the piano. 



S 



This frog lives around cold streams and springs, 
and is very commonly seen in the grass. In habit 
he is not gregarious like Rana virescens 
virescens* but on the contrary is rather 
He is the most abun- 
t frog in the Alleghany 
Mountains, but is com- 




mon throughout all 
the States east of 
the Mississippi 
Eiver. In agility 
he is only excelled 
by the wood frog 
{Rana sylvatica), 
which he slightly resembles in point of color, lacking, 
however, the dash of black behind the eye. TTith 
one long, graceful leap this athletic batrachian covers 
the ground with the ease of a deer, and leaves his 



Brown Frog 
(Rana palustris). 



pursuer far in the rear, 
able odor. 



He has rather a disagree- 



26 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

The nose of this species is more obtuse than that 
of Maria virescens virescens, and the general color of 
the back is light brown, well covered with oblong 
spots of dark brown regularly arranged on either 
side. Between these spots and another similar series 
lower down on the side is a bright yel- 
low line. The wood frog's color is 
generally tan brown, but he is 
without conspicuous spots. 
The northern frog 
(Rana septe?itrionalis), 
which is the least 
familiar one of my 
group, is distin- 
guished for its dis- 
agreeable odor. It 
^ - — has a somewhat broad, 

{BanaSlntHonalis). st ° ut b ° d 7> a naiT0W 

head, and a rough but 
not tuberculated skin. The color above is light 
olive, covered on the lower half of the back with 
large, nearly circular blotches of brown. The legs 
have a few blotches, but no bands. Beneath, the 
color is a uniform dull whitish yellow. Compared 
with Rana clamata* the species next described, this 

* Vide Batrachia of North America. E. D. Cope. 




THE CROAKERS. 



27 



frog has a browner color, larger eyes, longer fingers, 
and longer but less webbed feet. According to Pro- 
fessor Cope, the variations of Roma se-ptentrionalis 
are greater than those of any other North American 
species of this genus. 

The northern frog is about two inches long in 
maturity, and is found only in the north country 
from Garrison's Creek, near Sackett's Harbor (Lake 
Ontario), N. Y., northward to Canada, and westward 
to Minnesota. 

Dr. J. H. Gamier, who has given a detailed ac- 
count of the habits of this species as observed by 
him at Lueknow, Ontario, says it pos- 

the mink, and is 
particularly offensive on 
being handled. It is 
i thoroughly aquat- 
ic species, which 
seeks its food — 
insects and small 
fishes — in the 
water only. I 
know nothing 
of its voice. 
The green frog {Rana clamatd) — or the noisy 
frog, as his Latin specific title would seem to sug- 
gest (a very common batrachian, about three inches 




Green Frog (Rana clamatd). 



rr-rj-rj) rj 



28 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOKEST. 

long) — is the one whose familiar nasal " gum-m-m " 
or " chun-n-ng" is heard in every pool and frog pond 
from one end of the country to the other. He gen- 
erally waits on the margin until we approach within 
a yard of his retreat, and then slumps into the pool 
with a short and derisive "g-m-m" in C, one octave 
below middle C on the piano, thus : 
Often the note will be as high as E ; 
but in any event it is not a noisy voice which one 
hears, and the Latin name seems entirely misapplied, 
more particularly as these frogs do not congregate in 
large and clamorous assemblies like Hyla picJceringii 
or Rana mrescens virescens. On the contrary, liana 
clamata lives alone or with one or more companions. 
We will frequently see him seated on a lily pad or 
on the shaded margin of the pond, where he occa- 
sionally makes a gulping answer to a fellow frog over 
on the other side. 

In form Rana clamata is rather stout, with a 
head longer than it is broad, and very large ear 
drums. The hind feet are strongly webbed, and the 
skin of the back is more or less rough. In color the 
frog is decidedly green, the upper parts quite bright 
and the lower parts deepening to a dull olive hue. 
Beneath, the coloring is dull white merging into yel- 
low under the chin ; the hind legs are marked with 
three or four transverse dark bands. 



THE CROAKERS. 



29 



The next nearest relative of liana clamata is the 
bullfrog (liana catesbiana), the largest of all the 
American species ; he frequently measures four and 
a half inches from the nose to the end of the body. 
He is the bass viol of the batrachian 
rchestra, and the king of all the 
croaking tribe of Rana, but 
sort of canni- 
into the bar- 
gain, for he 
is known to 
feast on his 
own tad- 
pole prog- 
eny. But 
this is a bad 
habit not wholly 
confined to the 
big Rana catesbiana. Any one who has fished for 
frogs with a bit of red worsted tied to a fishhook 
knows how the gaping, wide-mouthed creatures will 
snap at anything that comes along without discrim- 
ination ; in fact, a tadpole for bait will do almost as 
well as a bit of red worsted. Apropos of this fact, 
Dr. Abbott's remarks about the voracity of frogs are 
well worth repeating : 

" While feeding an Anderson's Hyla with flies a 




The Bullfrog {Rana catesbiana). 



30 FAMILIAR LIFE IX FIELD AND FOREST. 

few days ago, which it takes from my fingers, I was 
startled by the on-rush of a little wood frog, which, 
impatient for its own dinner, seriously attempted to 
swallow both the tree toad and my fingers at one 
mighty gulp. . . . With widely gaping jaws, which 
were distended before the leap was made, the frog at- 
tempted to scoop up the toad and swallow it, or get 
such a hold as would make subsequent swallowing 
an easy task; and yet the difference in size of the 
two creatures was very little. As for the tree toad, 
it took the whole proceeding as a matter of course, 
not moving a muscle even when such great danger 
was apparently imminent. The whole tribe of tail- 
less batrachians is much alike in this respect, seem- 
ingly taking it for granted that they were born to be 
eaten, and stuff themselves until fate wills it that 
they go to stuff others. ... I have seen little fellows 
just from the tadpole state in dangerous proximity 
to patriarchal bullfrogs, which were then only wait- 
ing for their appetites to return to swallow a half 
dozen of their own grandchildren ! " 

Rana catesbiana is much less green than Rana 
clamata / the color of the back is dull olive, some- 
times marked with darker blotches or bands, the 
positions of which are not always the same. The 
head is usually yellowish olive-green, and the lower 
part of the body much darker. Beneath, the crea- 




THE BULLFROG. 
RANA CATESBIANA. 

" Tuneful scrapings on a 
moonlight night." 



THE CROAKERS. 31 

ture is yellowish white, much deeper in tone under 
the chin. In different localities the frog is differ- 
ently marked, and it is therefore impossible to define 
any standard of color whereby the species may be 
identified. The head is as broad as it is long, and 
the hind feet are widely webbed. A characteristic 
mark of this species is the fold in the skin, which 
begins behind the eye, curves over the dark round 
spot which is really the ear, and descends to a point 
below the lower jaw, losing itself in the yellow skin 
under the arm on the breast. This is the only fold 
of skin on the frog, and it is inconspicuous beyond 
the ear ; but a sharp eye may easily detect its course 
beyond that point. 

Every one knows the bullfrog's note ; and that 
his hoarse voice in the distance, so nearly resembling 
the roar of a bull, should have occasioned his name, 
goes without saying. Still, as I have remarked be- 
fore, there is a musical tone to nearly every sound in 
Nature's world, and our bullfrog is not an exception 
to the rule. He is the double bass of the midsum- 
mer orchestra, and no stretch of the imagination is 
required to hear his tuneful scrapings on a moonlight 
night ranging through the following chords : 



4~*- 



Rumjugo rum: J u $ ' rum: more rumo rum morerumo'rum. 



32 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

There are often as many discords as there are har- 
monies, I will admit ; but there, again, is Nature's 
suggestiveness. She simply suggests the harmony, 
and we assimilate it ; a little imagination does the 
rest, and " jug o' rum, jug o' rum, more rum, more 
rum " is quite a justifiable simile, although it reflects 
on the character of the woodsman more than it does 
on that of the batrachian. There is a humorous fit- 
ting of tones to syllables often scraped on the bass 
viol during an intermission of the string orchestra, run- 
ning thus : t q ft h Hum those tones to 
a musician Ifflr f * ^f * * "JT and his response is 

• i j» What'll you have to drink? «i« ,i 

a smile 01 J recognition ; they 

suggest but one idea to the German mind — beer. 
I am inclined to think the American woodsman is 
responsible for the suggestive syllables connected 
with the bullfrog's sonorous croak. 

The bullfrog prefers the larger bodies of water, 
especially where these are surrounded by evergreen 
forests, and he haunts the shores where thickets and 
underbrush make his home inaccessible. The voice is 
not heard until the arrival of warm weather, and it 
continues through every evening during the sum- 
mer ; it may occasionally be heard for a distance of 
two miles. 

Dr. Gamier points out certain similar charac- 
teristics of the three species, Hana septentrio- 



THE CROAKERS. 



33 



nalis } Rana clamata, and Rana catesbiana, which I 
copy : 

1. They have no chant d' amour in spring. 

2. They retire early to hibernate with the first 
autumnal frost. 

3. They live in the water and lie in wait for their 
food, never hunting for it on land. 

4. They poise the body on floating weeds, or sit 
on the bank, or on any bit of stick or log that suits 
their purpose. 

5. Their tadpoles require two years in which to 
mature. 

6. Their notes are produced by inflating the 
throat pouch and suddenly expelling the air ; where- 
as in Rana virescens, etc., 
there is a pouch on either 



side near the angle of 
the jaws. 

7. They are all 
tinged with yellow- 
ish green under the 
chin. 

The wood frog 
(Rana sylvatica) is 
a distinctly sylvan 

character, he is frequently found among the dead 
and moist leaves on the border of the brook which 




Wood Frog {Rana sylvatica). 



34 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

finds its way among the ferny hollows of the hillside 
forest. This frog is susceptible to the color of his 
surroundings, and changes from the tan color of a 
dead leaf to the green of a living one with consider- 
able ease. In general his color is tan brown, and 
his characteristic mark is a blackish patch extend- 
ing from behind the eye to a point just over the 
shoulder. Often his back will be strong buffish gray, 
with a tinging of brown on either side. There are 
three or four transverse dark bands across the thighs, 
and a few scattered black spots will be found on the 
sides. 

The nose of this species is rather pointed, and the 
limbs are long and slender, with the hind feet well 
webbed. The frog is therefore a good swimmer ; 
but as a leaper he holds the record. When one 
spies a dull brown, slender-legged frog among the 
leaves around a woodland spring, or even in the re- 
cesses of the forest where there is no water near, and 
this frog takes a flying leap, disappearing entirely — 
perhaps landing somewhere in the next county — one 
may be pretty sure that it is none other than JRana 
sylvatica. 

In early April we may hear the spasmodic 
and hoarse 
near the 



t y , > , i croak of the wood frog 



\ \ \ pond, to which he resorts 



in the short breeding season ; but in the summer he 



THE CROAKERS. 35 

takes to the woods again, and remains there for the 
rest of the year. His voice is pitched about an 
octave below middle C, and it is really not often 
heard after May ; in fact, this frog is the most silent 
one of the genus Hana. 



OHAPTEE III. 

SONGLESS BATRACHIANS. 
The Salamanders. 

After leaving the clamorous frogs, one experi- 
ences a sense of relief in coming to the voiceless 
salamander — lizard as he is wrongly called. Now 
the lizard and the salamander belong to two separate 
families of widely different character. The lizard is 
covered with imbricated or granular scales ; he is the 
small relation of the alligator. - The salamander is 
smooth-skinned; he is the elongated relation of the 
frog. The lizard is a saurian reptile, the principal 
characteristics of which are the scales, the claws to 
the toes, the undilated mouth, the toothed jaws, and 
the eggs with a hard shell or skin, the young from 
which do not undergo a metamorphosis. The sala- 
mander is a batrachian, with a skin as smooth as a 
catfish, toes without claws, dilated mouth, and young 
which are metamorphosed. 

The salamander was credited with the most re- 
markable attributes in days of old. His bite was 
36 



SONGLESS BATRACHIANS. 37 

considered fatal, and anything which his saliva 
touched was said to become poisonous. But the 
principal absurdity connected with this generally 
aquatic creature was that he could resist fire — in fact, 
could extinguish it. Bacon says : " There is an an- 
cient received tradition of the salamander that it liv- 
eth in fire, and hath force also to extinguish the fire." 
And Shakespeare makes Falstaff say : " I have main- 
tained that salamander of yours with fire any time 
this two and thirty years ; God reward me for it ! " 
Even in colonial times a superstitious connection of 
salamanders with the fire on the kitchen hearth was 
rife in the minds of simple folk, and old dying em- 
bers were said to breed them. 

But between fire and water the salamander chooses 
the latter ; and although some of the species are ter- 
restrial in habit, many of them are decidedly aquatic 
— our little red salamander, for instance. Most of 
the "lizards," however, are found under the stones 
on the margin of the brook or the ditch ; but not a 
few hide among the damp, withered leaves of the 
forest floor. 

One of the common batrachians of the West is 
named Necturns maculatus — the spotted Nectnrus. 
His back is Crowded with whitish specks, which re- 
duce the general brown color to a pattern in fine 
lines. Along the back are also arranged superior 



38 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



rows of dark brown spots. The branchial (gilled) 
formations of this strange creature are very conspicu- 
ous, the head and muzzle are flat, 
the body is proportionally short, 
and there are but four 
toes to each foot. 




He is entirely 

Spotted Necturus (Necturus maculatus). d 

aquatic. 
That still stranger-looking creature, common on 
the bottoms of rivers in Ohio, called the hellbender 
( Cryptobranehiis 

allegheniensiS) 
Cope *), 




The Hellbender 
{Cryptobranchus allegheniensis). 



is horrible in name 
only, but yet far from 
being agreeable in ap- 
pearance. He is a rep- 
tile, every inch. The 
head is flat and broad, the tail is half as long as 
the head and body together, the mouth is wide, and 
the legs are short, with an extensive fold of skin 



Also called Protonopsis horridus. 



SONGLESS BATRACHIANS. 39 

between the armpit and the extremity of the outer 
" finger." 

This harmless reptile is a pale leaden color with 
indistinct brown spots on the back. Both this and 
the preceding species have a more eellike than lizard- 
like appearance. They are about a foot long. 

The hellbender is distributed from western New 
York to Georgia and Louisiana, and westward to 
Iowa. He is entirely aquatic in his habits, and is 
frequently " hooked " by fishermen on the 
Ohio River. 

A more lizardlike and attractive crea- 
ture than the hellbender is the salaman- 
der named Arably stoma punctatum, dis- 
tinguished for a smooth 
skin pitted 
with pores 
which are 
most numerous 

Violet Salamander (Amblystoma punctatum). 

about the tail, 

and for the milky juice which exudes from the darker 
colored portions of it. The general color of this sala- 
mander is leaden black, and on each side of the back 
are a series of circular, or nearly circular, regularly 
arranged yellow spots about as large as the eye. On 
the sides, and beneath, are some scattered specks 
of bluish white on a lighter leaden-colored ground, 




40 FAMILIAR LIFE EST FIELD AND FOREST. 

which impart a somewhat plum-colored hue to the 
creature. 

The eggs of this species are surrounded by large 
masses of albuminous matter, which are deposited in 
pools, ditches, and streamlets. Upon a closer exami- 
nation these masses will be found to consist of a num- 
ber of hollow spheres about a quarter of an inch in 
diameter, connected together by a transparent jelly. 
Within each sphere is the embryo of a young sala- 
mander.. In due season the half-developed, fishlike 
creature, freed from the gelatinous envelope, com- 
pletes its growth in the quiet water, and finally de- 
velops four legs, which sprout from the body and ter- 
minate first with three, then four, and 
finally five toes. Jm*M£^ ^^ s sa ^ aman - 

der is common 
from New York 
westward and south- 
ward. The length 
of an average specimen at 
maturity is about six inches. 

Tiger-spotted Salamander Another closely allied 

(Amblystoma tigrinum). 

species is the Amblystoma 
tigrinum, sometimes ten inches in length, but gener- 
ally not more than seven. The color of this species 
is leaden black of a brownish tone ; on the upper 
parts, generally on the sides of the tail and limbs, are 




SONGLESS BATRACHIANS. 41 

sharply defined yellow spots about the size of the 
eye, less symmetrically arranged than those of Am- 
bly stoma punctatum ; beneath, the dull white color is 
sometimes, but not always, blotched with yellow. The 
head is proportionally small, the body thick and wide, 
and the legs stout and short. 

The young of this species are said to be very 
abundant in all still water in the far West. They 
are exceedingly voracious and bite at the hook read- 
ily. Late in the summer they complete their meta- 
morphoses and take to the land, where they hide in 
the holes of woodchucks, badgers, etc. Professor 
Cope describes a captive salamander of this species 
(it came from New Jersey) which occupied a burrow 
in the soil of his fernery for several weeks. The 
burrow had two openings, and from one of these the 
head of the creature could usually be seen, with 
the little eyes intently watching what was going on 
in the outer world. I had two such salamanders in 
captivity in my own fernery for about a year. They 
became perfectly tame, and ate from my hand. It 
was amusing to watch the little heads deliberately 
turn for a better view of some interesting object. 

Ambly stoma tigrinum is common from southern 
New York southward and westward, and is especially 
abundant near Beasley's Point, between Cape May 
and Atlantic City, N. J. A specimen is even re- 



42 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

corded from Ottawa, so it is apparent that its geo- 
graphical distribution is very wide. 

The most elongated and slender native species 
of salamander is the Plethodon cinereus, whose body 
and tail, cylindrical throughout, meas- 
ure about four inches in 




Plethodon cinereus. 



length ; the tail is sometimes considerably longer than 
the head and body. The color above is dark brown, 
and below it is dull white, so thickly sprinkled with 
mottled brown that the general appearance is like 
that of " pepper and salt.' ' 

This little fellow is characteristically sylvan. His 
habits are exclusively terrestrial ; he is never found 
(even in the larval stage) in the water. He hides 
under the stones and fallen trunks in the forests 
everywhere, and never strays to the open fields. The 
eggs are laid in a little package beneath a stone 
in a damp place; when the young emerge they are 
provided with branchiae (gills of a fringelike appear- 
ance), but these soon vanish, and very small speci- 
mens are often found without them. I do not recol- 
lect that I have ever found this salamander in JSTew 
England; but in the woodlands of southern New 



SONGLESS BATRACHIAXS. 



43 



York he is far from uncommon. That, however, is a 
matter of personal experience. Professor Cope says 
that this species, found throughout the United States 
east of the Mississippi River, is apparently more 
abundant in the Middle States than elsewhere, and 
that its northern range is central Maine, Ontario, and 
Michigan. 

A very common variety of this species is the red- 
backed salamander {Plethodon cine reus erythrono- 



tically no difference be- 
and characteristics of this 
of Plethodon 




tits). There is prac- 
tween the proportions 
sub-species and those 
cinereus. In ap- 
pearance there is a 
difference ; the back 
of Plethodon cinereus 
erythronotus is marked 
with a broad red stripe 
which begins at the neck and finishes at the tip of the 
tail. There is a mottled appearance at the middle 
of the stripe which does not affect this color. The 
stripe is also variable in tone ; sometimes it is brick- 
red, occasionally it is pinkish, and at other times it 
is pale orange.* 



Red-backed Salamander 
(P. cinereus erythronotus). 



* When it is this color we are liable to confuse it with the spe- 
cies Desmogncdlius ochrophcea, but the body of the latter is stouter, 
and its under parts are never yellow. 



44 FAMILIAR LIFE W FIELD AND FOREST. 

This species is common on the west side of Lake 
Champlain, in Essex County, N. Y., in southern New 
England, in the southern Catskills (at Pine Hill), and 
in New Jersey, at least according to my experience 
and that of several others. Its distribution, however, 
is quite parallel with that of Plethodon cinereus. At 
his home in New Jersey, Dr. Abbott once shook one 
from a stick of wood which he was about to place on 
the fire, and the creature, instead of supporting its 
reputation of being a " fire-eater," scampered away 
from the hearth in frantic alarm. 

Another species closely allied to the above, but 
stouter in figure, called Plethodon glutinosus, the 




Plethodon glutinosus, 



sticky salamander, has a wide range from Maine to 
Texas. Professor Cope says he found it more abun- 
dant in Pennsylvania and New York than in south- 
western Virginia. It is also said to be common in 
Massachusetts and Maine.* The skin of this sala- 
mander is everywhere lined with little glands which 

* Vide Batrachia of North America. Cope. 



SONGLESS BATRACHIANS. 45 

secrete a milky juice ; these glands are largest on the 
upper surface of the tail, and more scattered on the 
under parts. 

The head of the sticky salamander is broad, the 
eyes are large and prominent, and the toes are slight- 
ly swollen at the ends. The color of the back is 
leaden black, and on the sides are tiny silvery gray 
specks. The back is sometimes entirely without spots, 
or they are exceedingly minute. This salamander is 
also terrestrial in his habits. He is found most com- 
monly in the mountainous districts of the North and 
South, and his favorite haunts are the crevices of 
rocky ledges and the hollows in decaying logs. His 
total length is a little less than six inches. 

This species is distinguished from Plethodon cine- 
reus by its broader figure, larger limbs, less webbed 
toes, and silvery side spots. 

The next salamanders which should engage our 
attention belong to the genus Spelerpes, which is re- 




Two-striped yellow Salamander {Spelerpes bilineatus). 

markable for its bright colors, usually red or yellow. 
The two-striped salamander (Spelerpes bilineatus) is 
yellow, with a slightly brownish tinge on the back, and 



46 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

two dark brown lines, one on either side. The under 
parts are a spotless citron yellow. The pretty little 
creature is scarcely more than three inches in length ; 
his tiny legs are terminated by the slenderest of toes, 
and his small figure is altogether dainty and attractive. 
Very probably he is the salamander to which Dr. 
Abbott refers in Days Out of Doors, thus : " Deeper 
in the drifted mass, where the trickling waters of a 
little spring had formed a shallow pool, were numbers 
of long, lithe yellow salamanders, which I had not 
found before, and so had held were not to be included 
in our fauna. I forgot for the time that others might 
have been more fortunate, as was the case." Yes, 
these amber-yellow salamanders, even if they are not 
common in New Jersey, are somewhat common in 
New York — in the southern Catskills, for instance — 
and in Pennsylvania. The northern range of the 
species is extended with decreasing numbers to the 
borders of Maine, and, although specimens may not 
be common, perhaps, in New Hampshire, I have found 
one as far north as Squam Lake. Southwardly and 
westwardly this species is found in Florida and Ohio. 
The yellow salamander is aquatic to a certain extent, 
and frequents shallow brooks, stony swamps, and cold 
springs ; but I have also found the little fellow 
among the weeds that border the brook. He is a 
sprightly creature, and wriggles away from the hand 




- » ! ** 4 






1L . ll?* :S 



THE HOME OF THE RED 
SALAMANDER. 

SPELERPES RUBRA. 

THE MCCANN BROOK, 
CAMPTON, N. H. 



SOXGLESS BATRACHIAXS. 47 

which captures him with the slightest opportunity 
that is offered. 

A far commoner type of Spelerpes is the red sala- 
mander (Spelerpes rubra), which is found in almost 
every mountain tarn or brook 

in the north 0,^ ^Bp^^ country. 

This is the fa- 
miliar, so-called "red 
lizard," perhaps five inches long 




at most, whose brilliant coloring in 
the green setting of the hillside 
spring is an unexpected and de- 
lightful surprise to one who gazes 
upon it for the first time. In habits 
this creature is decidedly aquatic, as Red salamander 

^ (Spelerpes rubra). 

he never goes beyond the precincts 
of the brook except in rainy weather. On a very 
rainy day last summer one made his appearance on 
the back-door step of my cottage in the "White 
Mountains, evidently after straying from the spring 
a hundred feet behind the house ; but wet days are 
the only ones for salamanders to travel in. There 
is no fear of "drying up" en route, and the wide 
world, however wet, is more interesting than the 
stony environment of the brook ; so I captured the 
adventurous salamander and gave him a view of 
life in my studio from the confines of a fish globe. 



48 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

But he proved very uninteresting. He did not favor 
me with his mysterious song, which I had read so 
much about, and he ate nothing that was set before 
him. In fact, his existence proved to be a very mo- 
notonous one from my point of view, so I gave him 
his liberty. 

He came on a rainy day, and I let him go on an- 
other. There is nothing like being consistent. It is 
well not to forget that it occasionally rains frogs and 
salamanders, according to the dictum of some simple- 
minded people, and it is wisest to choose a wet day, 
and thus not shake the faith of a believer ! But there 
is a very strange thing connected with the little red 
salamander, which is the more remarkable because 
there seems to be but one record of it. I refer to the 
voice ascribed to the creature. It seems very doubtful 
whether he has any voice.* Possibly I am the most 
unreasonable of skeptics in this matter, but I have a 
lingering idea that the salamander f which John 

* I have referred the matter to Professor Garman, of Cam- 
bridge, and he is also very skeptical about the salamander's voice. 
As Professor Garman is one of our leading authorities on batrachi- 
ans, and as he has never heard a salamander sing, 1 am inclined 
to accept his opinion as final. 

f " For years I have been trying to ascertain for a certainty the 
author of that fine plaintive peeping to be heard more or less fre- 
quently, according to the weather, in our summer and autumn 
woods. It is a note that much resembles that of our small marsh 
frog in spring — the Hyla. It is not quite so clear and assured, 



SOXGLESS BATRACHIANS. 49 

Burroughs heard was a scamp and a base deceiver. 
He must have been swelling his throat " for the fun 
of it," while some Pickerings Hyla was piping near 
by ; but Burroughs not only says he saw and heard 
this particular salamander sing, but adds that "it 
makes more music in the woods in autumn than any 
bird." 

Now, in all the time I have known the red sala- 
mander — from boyhood — I have never heard him 
make any kind of noise. Still, this proves nothing. 
He may sing, and all these years I may have missed 
the song ; but on Staten Island, in Putnam County, 
in the Adirondacks, in the Catskills, and in New 
England, I have frequently seen him early and late 



but otherwise much the same. On a very warm October day I 
have heard the woods vocal with it ; it seemed to proceed from 
every stump and tree about one. Ordinarily it is heard only at 
intervals throughout the woods. Approach never so cautiously 
the spot from which the sound proceeds and it instantly ceases. 
. . . ' Is it a frog,' I said, i the small tree frog, the piper of the 
marshes, repeating his spring note?' . . . Doubtless it is, yet I 
must see him in the very act. ... I heard the sound proceed 
from beneath the leaves at my feet. Keeping entirely quiet, the 
little musician presently emerged, and, lifting himself up on a 
small stick, his throat palpitated, and the plaintive note again 
came forth. . . . No, it was no frog or toad at all. but the small 
red salamander, commonly called lizard. This was the mysteri- 
ous piper, then, heard from May till November through all our 
woods, sometimes oti trees, but usually on or near the ground. It 
makes more music in the woods in autumn than any bird." — Pe~ 
pact on ^ Chapter V, John Burroughs. 
5 



50 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

in the year, yet never have heard him sing. Still, 
this again proves nothing ; there are other places and 
times that he might have sung, and not every one 
could be the fortunate listener. But let me draw to- 
gether some facts which have a favorable bearing on 
the salamander's voice, and then leave the reader free 
to form his own opinion. 

Professor Cope says of a Western batrachian, 
Amphiuma means, that it resembles the species of 
Desmognathus in the possession of a chirrup or 
whistle (!). Then he continues, "I do not know of 
another American salamander which possesses a 
voice." Also, in an addenda to the work from -which 
I quote,* he says : " Dr. Charles C. Abbott informs 
me that Spelerpes rubra has a distinct whistlelike 
voice, and states that John Burroughs has also 
heard it." 

Dr. Abbott says, in Outings at Odd Times : " It 
was only after a hard chase that I captured it " [a red 
salamander], " and, holding it in my hand until rested, 
I endeavored to induce it to squeak, for it is one 
of the very few that has a voice ; but it was not to 
be coaxed. It suffered many indignities in silence, 
and so shamed me by its patience that I gently 
placed it in the brook." 

* The Batrachia of North America. 



SOXGLESS BATRACHIANS. 51 

William Hamilton Gibson, in an article entitled 
Autumn Whistlers, published in Harper's Toung 
People,* also quotes from John Burroughs the same 
account of the red salamander's voice which I have 
given in the accompanying footnote ; but he does 
not cite any instance where he heard the voice and 
saw the singer himself. 

In a letter contributed to Nature I find Professor 
Eimer relates his experience connected with a lizard's 
voice. He remarks that one which he observed on 
the rocks of Capri had a peculiar voice which is 
ascribed among reptiles to geckoes and chameleons 
alone. This lizard, he says, made a peculiarly soft pip- 
ing sound on being captured, and uttered repeatedly, 
in quick succession, a series of very sharp tones sound- 
ing like "Bschi," and reminding one of the hoarse 
piping of a mouse or young bird. I suppose this liz- 
ard must have been one of the same species which I 
saw when wandering through the deserted streets of 
the ancient city of Pompeii. There seemed to be a 
lizard partly hidden in every nook and cranny of the 
walls on either hand. Once in a while one scam- 
pered with lifted tail across the rough pavement out 
of my way. Upon capturing two or three, I found 
they resented handling by squirming about and giv- 

* Also published in a volume entitled Sharp Eyes. 



52 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

ing a vicious nip at one's fingers, but they never 
squeaked. 

Now this evidence, such as it is, proves but one 
thing : that a certain lizard and a salamander or two 
do have voices ; but these, it seems, are rarely heard. 
We have no testimony regarding the voice of Spe- 
lerpes rubra except that given by Burroughs. The 
very fact that he mentions the strange voices as com- 
monly occurring in the woods from May until No- 
vember, suggests the possibility that he may have 
heard the Hyloe, who do sing scatteringly in the woods 
during this season. Moreover, the fact remains that 
Spelerpes rubra is distinctively aquatic. He has no 
business to be plaintively " peeping " on trees or on 
the ground, especially when it is not a rainy day. 
Indeed, if we should care to look for a red salaman- 
der on a fine day we would better go to the spring or 
brook at once. He is, as I have intimated, an at- 
tractive little creature whose quiet habits are worth 
study. In appearance he is far from positive red. 
His color is rather a translucent dull orange red, and 
sometimes he matches a brick quite perfectly. Along 
his back are blackish specks which are more or less 
conspicuous in different individuals. In immature 
specimens these are not distinct, and in some they are 
scarcely perceptible. 

The red salamander is generally found beneath a 



SONGLESS BATRACHIANS. 53 

stone in a cold spring, or oftener in a hollow beside 
the stone. He swims with considerable activity, and 
is not* easily caught as he glides through the water 
with limbs pressed against the body and tail undulat- 
ing rapidly ; but once on land he is at the mercy of 
his pursuer. His efforts at locomotion are neither 
graceful nor rapid. The food of this species con- 
sists of insects. 

Still another even more common salamander, per- 
haps the most abundant one in North America, is 
found in the hillside spring. This is Des?nogndthus 
fusca, a little mud-colored character scarcely 
more than four inches long, which 
burrows under the pebbles and 
stones, and whose dark 
brown color ad- 




Desmognathus fusca. •^^3Efe?-/vs^; i ;;" : ^=***^^&k. - \) 

Section of keel-shaped tail at A. — =C 

mirably protects it from enemies. The 
tail of this species is characterized by finlike and 
keellike extensions which narrow toward the tip. 
Among the wet blackish roots and stones of the 
brook the little creature is not easily distinguished 
from his surroundings, consequently he escapes our 
notice ; but turn over a half-dozen stones on the 
border of some shallow pool, and the agile move- 



54 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

ments of one or two wriggling so-called lizards will 
betray their presence. 

I have found this salamander quite plentiful in 
the shallow brooks of Campton, N. H., particularly 
where these run through stony, boggy places charac- 
terized by blackish mud, and perhaps shaded by the 
feathery boughs of the hemlock. But the species is 
common throughout the country, although its eastern 
limit is probably Essex County, Mass. 

The ocher - colored salamander, Desmognathus 
ochroj>hcea, is an allied species of more local interest, 
which is found in Essex County, N. Y., and in the 
Alleghany Mountains. It is abundant in the Black 
Mountains of North Carolina and northern Pennsyl- 
vania. Its color is brownish yellow above, with a 
dorsal row of spots in darker yellowish color, and on 
either side of it, lower down, a band of the same color 
which extends to the tip of the tail. Beneath, it is 
without spots. 

This small species, not more than three inches 
long, and rarely exceeding half the size of Desmogna- 
thus fusca, resembles the red-backed salamander, but 
its figure is stouter. Its tail is rounded, in which re- 
spect it differs from Desmognathus fusca, and it also 
differs from the other species of the genus Desmog- 
nathus in its thoroughly terrestrial habits. Instead 
of hiding under the stones of the brook, it frequents 



SOXGLESS BATRACHIANS. 



55 



the damp places of the woods where decaying leaves 
and tree trunks are plenty, particularly those of the 
hemlock. Professor Cope says he never saw one in 
the water of streams and river banks. 

Desmognathus nigra, another allied species, is a 
black salamander about six and a half inches long, 
which is found in the Alleghany Mountains from 
Pennsylvania southward. It is particularly common 
in Virginia. This creature is aquatic, and, like Des- 
mognathus fusca, inhabits only shallow stony brooks 
and cold springs in the remote parts of the mountains 
which afford cool and shady retreats. 

I am wholly unable to account for the paragraph 
which I have quoted on a previous page from Cope's 
Batrachia of North America. The professor makes 
no further remark about the Desmognathus possess- 
ing a whistle. I certainly know two of the species of 
this genus well, but I am not aware that either pos- 
sesses a voice. Years ago I used to spend hours 
hunting through the brooks of New Jersey and New 
Hampshire for salamanders, and these I carried to 
my home in the city by the dozen — that was my boy- 
ish pleasure ; but never have I heard one whistle. 
The creatures were apparently voiceless. It seems 
as though after twenty years of acquaintance with 
them I ought to have heard one sing; but I have 
not, and I shall leave it now for my readers to dis- 



56 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

cover that rare and mysterious music of the so-called 
" lizard," which, when it is heard, will prove beyond 
a shadow of doubt that these batrachians are not 
songless. 



CHAPTEK IT. 

OUR AXCIEXT ENEMY THE OPHIDIAN * 
Snakes. 

A reptile f in the fullest sense of the term, the 
snake glides through the grass and across the road, 
the most unfortunate and repellent representative of 
his class. I think Ruskin hit upon the true reason of 
our aversion to snakes when he said that the creature 
glided " a bit one way, a bit another, and some of him 
not at all." That is the one characteristic of the 
snake — his circumventive motion — which we most 
dislike ; regardless of his reptilian looks, it is suffi- 
cient to know that he skims over the ground in so 
sinuous a way that we can not keep an eye on him. 
Any attempt to trace his course meets with failure, 
and before one realizes it, one is stupidly staring at 
the spot where the creature toas ! Vfe do not like to 
be tricked this way ; such an insidious method of 
locomotion is a species of deceit indicative of the 
treacherous character of the beast, so we count him 

* From dcpidiov, a serpent. f From the Latin repo, to crawl.. 

57 



58 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

an evil thing to wreak vengeance upon — a sort of 
scapegoat for the sins of all creation ! 

Ever since that unfortunate incident in the gar- 
den of Eden the serpent has had heaped upon his 
back the abiding enmity of the human race ; but this 
is a mere trifle so far as the cause of the ill feeling 
toward the reptile is concerned ; the real truth is, we 
do not like his appearance or his ways, and we kill 
him upon any and all occasions regardless of his his- 
torical associations. 

Now this is all wrong ; we must learn to let the 
snake alone, or else in the long run we will be the 
sufferers. In this eastern part of the country we 
have only two venomous snakes, the rattlesnake and 
the copperhead ; all the rest are absolutely harmless. 
As for these two dangerous reptiles, their venomous 
character has been greatly overestimated, and a great 
deal of sensational nonsense has been unnecessarily 
connected with them through the credulity of the 
ignorant. Not more than two dogs in nine die who 
have been bitten by the rattlesnake.* The copper- 
head is by far a less venomous reptile than the other, 
but to-day both are so rarely met with that they 
scarcely deserve attention at all as familiar animals. 

The rattlesnake still lives in some of the remote 

* The Poison of Serpents. S. Weir Mitchell. The Century 
Magazine, 1889, p. 514. 



OUR ANCIENT ENEMY THE OPHIDIAN. 59 

wildernesses of the northeastern States. In the 
vicinity of Lake George, on one of the shores of 
Lake Champlain, and perhaps in the southern Cats- 
kills, he is occasionally found ; but in the Adiron- 
dack and White Mountains I believe he does not ex- 
ist. In all the years that I have traveled among 
these northern hills I have never met one, and I am 
of the opinion that few, if any, are to be found to- 
day even in those localities where they were once 
reported to be plentiful. 

Of the other harmless snakes, the racer, the water 
snake, and the blowing adder are the most formidable 
so far as appearances are concerned; but they are 
only aggressive, and fight without doing much dam- 
age when angered. Not one of them can bite as 
hard as the red squirrel, and they are not large 
enough to seriously constrict a person. The racer 
might possibly choke a child if he set about the task, 
but I have only read of one instance where the rep- 
tile had sufficient courage to attempt anything on 
quite so large a scale. As for our innocent little 
green snake, he is the mildest and most defenseless 
little animal on the face of the earth ; the ringdove, 
who is a creature to dread among the small birds, is a 
monster compared with him. 

Yet it is a fact only too familiar to us all that the 
cry of " Snake ! " on the highway is the immediate sig- 



60 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

nal for war on the reptile with whatever weapons are 
handy — stones, pitchforks, clubs, sticks, or heels. 
Every man does his duty in the fray, and when the 
poor mutilated creature squirms at that part where 
he is not quite smashed, somebody remarks : " Oh, it 
isn't of any use to hit it any more ; you know snakes 
never die until after sundown " ; and we think so, or 
believe we do, and proceed on our way satisfied that 
the country is rid of one more big and dangerous 
reptile. 

But what is the truth ?. The farmer has lost one 
of his best friends; in proof of which, open the big 
snake's stomach and see what is there — mice, insects, 
grubs, slugs, rats, or moles, as the case may be ; all 
the worst enemies of the farmer. The very habits of 
the reptile are sufficient proofs of his harmless and 
beneficent character. He is never out at night, and 
in the spring he haunts the plowed fields and garden 
patches, ever on the alert for mice, or, best of all, 
grubs, cutworms, grasshoppers, and slugs. Yet in 
spite of all this the garden hoe is an ever-ready 
weapon with which to chase the poor thing from the 
field, if not to eventually make mince-meat of him. 

It is a most curious fact that the greatest igno- 
rance exists among many intelligent people regarding 
snakes. One would scout at believing such absurd 
things about any other kind of a creature, yet there 



OUR ANCIENT ENEMY THE OPHIDIAN. 61 

are many who think the snake exerts a sort of charm 
over its prey ; that a frightened mother snake 
temporarily swallows her young in time of danger ; 
and that the forked tongue of the creature is its 
deadly sting. Then one is told that a certain terrible 
serpent of Africa rolls itself up like a koople, chases 
a man, and strikes him dead with its horny, spiked 
tail. Also one is told that a snake never dies before 
sunset ; that it always licks its prey all over with its 
forked tongue preparatory to swallowing it, so that it 
will " slip down easily " ; and that when its fangs are 
extracted it lives an indefinite length of time on the 
stimulus of its own poison, and without food, and so 
on — ad absitrdum ! 

But, as opposed to all this nonsense, I can cite a 
number of facts not less remarkable and curious. 
Snakes, for instance, are strangely tenacious of life ; 
some can and do live a while without their brains or 
without their heart. The body decapitated for a cer- 
tain length of time continues to move and coil, and 
the separated head will dart out the tongue, or even 
try to bite ; * but I am not aware that these automatic 
and convulsive movements are in any way checked by 

* And more than this : Dr. S. Weir Mitchell says, " If we cut 
off a snake's head and then pinch its tail, the stump of the neck 
returns and with some accuracy hits the hand of the experimenter 
— if he has the nerve to hold on !" — Century Magazine, August, 
1889, p. 507. 



62 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

the setting of the sun. When the last lingering rem- 
nants of life are fled the snake is dead, that is all. 
As for the tongue— that delicate and marvelously 
sensitive organ — it is absurd to think so soft a thing 
is a sting, and ridiculous to suppose it is adapted to 
licking ; the snake is dull of sight and hearing, and 
this dainty tongue makes up for the deficiency by 
pursuing investigations by touch. 

Snakes are, as a rule, remarkably prolific, and bear 
anywhere from seven to one hundred or more young. 
Sometimes the eggs of certain species hatch in the 
oviduct ; hence the term ovoviviparous. It is easy to 
understand, therefore, that some ignorant person cut- 
ting open a snake in the early spring, and unaware of 
the true position of the stomach, should think that the 
creature had swallowed the young. But there are 
those who have very vague ideas of diseases as well as 
stomachs, and I remember a backwoodsman who 
during the greater part of one hot summer suffered 
terribly, according to his own account, from cholera 
infantum ! 

As for the swallowing process of the snake, that 
has a length which words can only inadequately 
measure. It is something like Milton's "linked 
sweetness long drawn out," without the sweetness. 
As a matter of fact, when one's teeth spread over 
one's palate it can not be expected that one's taste 



OUR ANCIENT ENEMY THE OPHIDIAN. 63 

should escape being impaired. So it is with the 
snake : he may have a liking for birds, mice, and 
frogs, but that he can taste them is quite a different 
thing. A cobra in the London " Zoo " one time 
made a mistake and swallowed her blanket instead of 
a rabbit. It is true she was partially blind, as it was 
just before she should shed her skin,* but that fact in 
no wise affected her taste. It is therefore perfectly 
plain she could not distinguish the difference in flavor 
between rabbit fur and a blanket ! To the average 
American snake a sleek young mouse is no more ac- 
ceptable as a tidbit than a rank, acrid-skinned frog of 
the genus Rana,\ 

But the way the frog is swallowed is something 

* At the time of sloughing, or casting the skin, snakes are par- 
tially blinded by the dull old skin which also covers the eye. It 
must be remembered that the ophidia do not possess eyelids. 

f Even a snake is food for a snake. Here is a remarkable in- 
stance of such cannibalism. M. Leon Vaillant, in a paper read 
before the Academie des Sciences de Paris, says : " In a menagerie 
of the museum of the Jardin des Plantes, a French viper (Pelias be- 
rus)hsal to be put in the same cage with a horned viper (Cerastes). 
As the individuals, although they belonged to different species, 
were about the same size, it was supposed that they would live 
peaceably together. It was a mistake. During the night that fol- 
lowed the Cerastes swallowed the Pelias, and, in order to accom- 
modate himself to his huge prey, his body was distended so that 
the scales which touched each other laterally and even lapped in his 
normal condition, were now so spread apart that between the lon- 
gitudinal rows a bare space equal in size to the scales was left. 
Digestion went on regularly, however, and the Cerastes did not 
appear to suffer." — The American Naturalist, March, 1893. 



64 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

appalling. It is one of those "ways" of the snake 
which, as I have already said, we do not like. JSTow 
we sometimes facetiously remark on the facility with 
which a small boy " gets around " a large piece of pie. 
The expression, however, more exactly fits the case 
of the snake ; he truly gets around his prey with a 
courageous disregard for its formidable dimensions. 
His head is scarcely half an inch thick, yet down 
goes the frog between his distended jaws, and yet it 
measured not a whit less than an inch and a half in 
diameter. .Now the simple fact is, the bones of the 
serpent are held together by elastic ligaments, and 
the reptile's capacity is correspondingly elastic. The 
teeth, too, are set with a backward curve, and by 
slightly working the jaws* the kicking frog is 
worried down by slow degrees in spite of a slippery 
hide which, were it not for those tiny, sharp, re- 
curved teeth, might assist him in the struggle for 
freedom. But he is doomed, and in less than ten 
minutes his toes disappear, and he proceeds on a 
lumpy course to the stomach of the reptile, smoth- 
ered. Immediately after swallowing the frog the 
snake gives a ghastly wide-mouthed gasp or two, as if 
choking to death. But no such thing ! he is merely 

* These are formed of no less than four sections, two above 
and two below, each of which is worked more or less independ- 
ently. 



OUR ANCIENT ENEMY THE OPHIDIAN. 65 

working his jaws back to a state of repose, and gulp- 
ing down a few breaths to make up for the time just 
past when breathing was somewhat difficult- 
Like the batrachians, the snakes sleep all winter, 
waking up after a seven or eight months' nap under 
the vivifying influence of spring sunshine, and with a 
sharpened appetite for frogs, mice, and the like. At 
this time, too, the snake discards his dull skin and 
arrays himself in a resplendent coat of iridescent 
colors. The skin is shed complete, inside out, and 
scraped off by the contact with bushes, rough ground, 
and dead leaves. 

Now the method of a snake's locomotion is as 
curious as its habit of hibernation. Watch one move, 
and it is hard to tell how he moves. We may think 
it is entirely by lateral pressure against every blade 
of grass and every grain of sand ; but that is not all. 
The lithe creature does something more than push 
himself along. Every rib is employed in a measure 
as a leg would be, and with careful observation one 
may detect a certain undulation in wavelike intervals 
beneath the skin, which is due to the contraction and 
expansion of the ribs as the snake moves. Thus a 
snake can, if he chooses, move in almost a straight 
line and over rather slippery surfaces. 

The constricting power of some snakes is also a 

marvel. With lightninglike rapidity the reptile will 
6 



66 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

throw himself about the body of his victim and 
tighten his hold as one might tighten the cord about 
a bundle by pulling the string ends. But the squeez- 
ing of our American snakes is a more serious matter 
for mice than men, so we will pass that, and devote 
our attention to the snakes themselves. 

There are two distinct groups or families of our 
snakes, one of which includes the poisonous rattle- 
snake and copperhead, and the other all the non- 
poisonous snakes. Here they are as defined by Prof. 
S. F. Baird : 

Crotaliile : Erectible poisonous fangs in front ; 
few teeth in the upper jaw ; pupil of eye vertical ; 
deep pit on the side of the face between the eye and 
nostril. 

OoLUBEiD^ : No poisonous fangs ; pupil of eye 
round ; no pit, and both jaws fully provided with 
teeth. 

According to Prof. Samuel Garman, there are at 
least four species of rattlesnakes east of the Missis- 
sippi Eiver ; but with one only will we have to do as 
a barely common object of familiar life. This is the 
Northern rattlesnake (Crotalus horridus)* Length, 
forty to sixty inches ; dark brown above, blotched 
with brown, black, and tan somewhat diagonally ; 

■* The nomenclature in every case is that of E. D. Cope, 1892. 
Vide Proc. U. S. Nat. Mu., vol. xiv, p. 589. 



OUR ANCIENT ENEMY THE OPHIDIAN. 67 

yellow beneath, blotched ; contracted neck ; carinated 
(keeled) dorsal scales in twenty-three to twenty-five 
rows. The fangs recline against the roof of the 
mouth protected by an elastic membrane. They are 
the only teeth on the maxillaries. These fangs when 
broken off or re- 
moved are re- 
placed by oth- 
ers. The ven- 
om may or may 
not be ejected 
by the serpent.* 
Like the skunk, 

the Creature is The rattlesnake coiled to strike : showing the flat- 
tening of the body against the ground. 

chary about dis- 
pensing what he seems to consider a valuable product 
not to be wasted on any account. The snake can only 
strike a distance equal to half the length of his body, 
and he is by no means aggressive, as the passer-by is 
unmolested if he does not begin hostilities. The 
snake need not necessarily be coiled to strike, either. 
He will throw himself right or left as far as the posi- 
tion of his body allows him to reach. The noise of 
the rattle is extremely like a rapid stridulation of the 
cone-headed grasshopper {Conocephalus ensiger), with 

* Samuel Garman. 




68 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

about eleven hundred vibrations to a minute, instead 
of two hundred and eighty-eight as in the case of the 
grasshopper.* m Because a serpent may 

possess half a ~ f|*f Pf f Pf "" dozen sections to his 
rattle it by no means indicates that he 

is six years old. More than one section may be added 
in a year's time, and frequently one is broken off by 
accident. 

The copperhead {Ancistrodon contortrix). Length, 
thirty-six inches ; light rusty brown above, with 
darker blotches and a coppery cast to the head ; 
^-shaped brown marks on sides ; yellowish beneath ; 
fangs like the rattlesnake's. An extremely rare but 
dangerous reptile, with a pointed, horny tail but with 
no warning rattle. 

The familiar members of the non-poisonous family 
Colubridce are as follows : 

The ground snake (Oarphophiops amoenus). 
Length, twelve inches ; opalescent color ; chestnut 
brown above, salmon beneath ; head very small, not 
wider than the neck; thirteen dorsal rows;f found 

* In the American Naturalist for March, 1893, somebody 
gives the vibrations of the rattle a tempo of one hundred and 
ten per minute. This is a great error, which may be proved 
at once by setting the metronome at one hundred and twelve 
— adagio. 

f By this I mean that the scales on the back are arranged in 
thirteen rows. 



OUR ANCIENT ENEMY THE OPHIDIAN. 



69 



under dry logs and stones in the mountains. 
chusetts to Louisiana and Illinois. 
The worm snake * 



Massa- 



( Carph ophwps 
Length, twelve 
lustrous purple 
flesh color he- 
half and half ; 
than the neck ; 




SOliri, Kan- 



Ground snake, 
12 inches. 



vermis). 
inches ; 
black above, 
neath ; colors about 
head very small, not wider 
thirteen dorsal rows. Mis- 
sas, and southern Illi- 
nois only. 

The chain snake (Ojjhiholns getulus getulus). 
Length, forty-eight inches ; handsome and inoffen- 
sive ; black, crossed ^mm^ ^ ^y narrow, 
continuous yellow- ^ f S ^ B ^^S^^ white rings 
which bifurcate on miSezf ; Hi the flanks ; 

on the back 
are large 
black hexa- 
gons ; blotched with black 
beneath ; head scarcely wider 
than the neck. Cope says that 
certain tamed chain snakes be- 
longing once to his little daughter drank milk from 
a saucer. The chain snake is a great enemy to other 




Chain snake*. 48 inches. 



Carphophis amcenus, var. vermis. Samuel Garman. 



70 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

snakes. Common in the South, and occasionally 
found on Long Island, JST. Y. ; southern New York 
to Florida and Louisiana. 

The king snake (Ophibolus getulus sayi). Length, 
forty -eight inches ; black above, with a yellow spot on 
each scale ; the effect of these spots is to form sixty 
transverse lines across the back ; yellowish-white be- 
neath, with black blotches. "West of the Alleghanies, 
north to Illinois and Wisconsin (Hoy). 




Milk snake, spotted adder, 48 inches. 

The spotted adder, milk, or house snake {Ophi- 
bolus doliatus triangulus)* Length, forty-eight 
inches ; handsome ; pale brown or ash-gray above, 
with about fifty dorsal, transverse, triangular choco- 
late blotches edged with black ; other lateral ones ; 
yellowish-white beneath, checkered with square black 
blotches ; small eye ; twenty-one dorsal rows. It is 
said to be fond of milk, and to frequent the floors of 
dairies and cellars of houses. I killed one at least 
thirty-eight inches long last summer in a vegetable 

* He has even more names — viz., chicken snake, thunder and 
lightning snake, checkered adder, etc. 



OUR ANCIENT ENEMY THE OPHIDIAN. 



71 



garden, much against my will, but in deference to a 
person who had a mortal antipathy to snakes. The 
poor creature was absolutely harmless, and 
never showed fight under the heavy blows 
of a club. This was the first, and it will 
be the last, harmless snake I shall accom- 
modatingly kill for another — transeat in 
exemplum ! The milk snake is com- 
mon from Maine to Virginia and 
westward to Iowa and Wisconsin. 

The ring-necked snake (Diadophis 
punctatus). Length, fifteen inches ; a 
beauty, and dressed tastefully ; violet- 
black above, orange beneath, edged by 
black spots ■; yellow-white ring or collar 
around the neck ; fifteen dorsal rows ; 
food, beetles, slugs, and grasshoppers ; 
found beneath fallen logs and stones. 
Common in the mountains of Penn- 
sylvania and Virginia, Maine to Wis- 
consin, and the Southern States. 

The green or grass snake {Liopeltis 
vernalis ; CyclojjMs vemalis of other 
authors). Length, eighteen inches ; beau- 
tiful ; bright green above, yellowish be- 
neath ; fifteen dorsal rows ; small head ; very smooth 
scales • food, insects, grubs, etc. Very common, and 



Ring-necked 

snake, 

15 inches. 




72 FAMILIAR LIFE EST FIELD AND FOREST. 

exceedingly gentle, frequenting wet meadows and 
sometimes climbing the alder bushes. My Manx 
cat frequently brought the pretty green creatures 
into my studio ; they never showed the slightest hos- 
tility on being so roughly handled by the 
cat. Maine to Virginia and Wisconsin. 
Another similar species (Cyelophis 
cestivus)* length, twenty-seven inches, 
has seventeen dorsal rows, the verte- 
bral ones strongly heeled ; a long, 
slender Southern 
green snake. North 
to New Jersey and 

Green snake, 18 inches. 

southern Illinois. 

The fox snake {Coluber vulpinus). Length, sixty 
inches ; light brown above, with sixty dorsal, trans- 
verse chocolate blotches margined with black ; one 
or two lateral rows ; yellowish -white beneath ; the 
four lateral rows of scales smooth. Massachusetts to 
Kansas and northward. 

The pilot snake, or mountain black snake (Coluber 
obsoletus obsoletus). Length, sixty inches ; graceful, 
inoffensive, and mild ; uniform silky brown or black 
above, with a few of the scales narrowly edged with 
white, slaty black beneath, with chin and throat yel- 

* Phyllophilophis cestivus. Samuel Garman. 



OUR ANCIENT ENEMY THE OPHIDIAN. 73 

lowish ; twenty-seven dorsal rows, the seven outer 
ones smooth. Resembles the racer, or black snake, 
in color only. Mt. Tom, Mass., to Texas ; abundant 
in southern Illinois. 

The pine, or bull snake {Pityophis mdanoleu- 
cus). Length, sixty inches ; very harmless ; tan and 
buff ; from twenty-seven to thirty-three dorsal 
blotches, brown margined with black; three series 
of lateral blotches ; brownish- white beneath ; twenty- 
nine dorsal rows. An exceedingly shy snake, fre- 
quenting sandy pine forests near the coast, and disap- 
pearing in a hole in the ground upon being 
surprised. Common south of the Ohio 
River, and found from New J ersey to 
South Carolina and Michigan (Gribbs). 

The black snake, or 
racer (Bascanium con- 
strictor). Length, forty- 
eight to eighty inches ; 
lustrous black above, greenish 
or slaty -black beneath ; chin 

and throat dull white ; Seven- Black snake, racer, 

48 inches. 

teen dorsal rows. An ugly 

customer when angered, but a harmless and cowardly 
one ; remarkable for the speed with which it " covers 
the ground," and hence called "the racer." He 
frequents wild ground where there is water, climbs 




74 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

trees with ease, and has a special penchant for birds 
and their eggs. He has no mean power of constric- 
tion also, and wins in a fight with the rattlesnake. 
Elliot Coues relates an instance in which he witnessed 
one of the frequent combats between the black snake 
and the rattlesnake, when the former, in less time than 
it takes to tell it, snapped the latter asunder by wind- 
ing the anterior and posterior parts of his body around 
the neck and tail of the rattlesnake and suddenly pull- 
ing himself taut. The food of this snake is mainly 
rats, mice, frogs, toads, and birds. Not uncommon 
throughout the country east of the Missouri River. 

The striped, or ribbon snake (Eutamia saurita)* 
Length, twenty-eight inches ; light, bright choco- 
late above, with three yellow stripes ; greenish -white 
beneath ; nineteen dorsal rows ; large eyes ; slender 
and graceful figure, agile ; found on the edge of the 
woods or near the water. A mild-tempered creature, 
which, should it happen to bite, pricks one's finger as 
a pin might. Common throughout the east, and 
abundant in the Alleghany mountains. 

The western garter, or striped snake (Eutcenia 
radix). Length, twenty inches ; brownish or green- 
ish-black above, with three narrow yellow stripes, and 
six series of black spots, sometimes obscure ; pale 

* These striped or garter snakes emit an offensive odor. 



OUR ANCIENT ENEMY THE OPHIDIAN. 75 

greenish tone beneath, marked black ; nineteen dor- 
sal rows, sometimes less. Common in central Western 
States to Lake Michigan and Oregon. 

The common garter snake (Eutoenia sirtalis sir- 
talis). Length, thirty to forty inches ; olive-brown 
above, sometimes nearly black, with 
three narrow light-yellow stripes en- 
croached upon by the three series of 
small black spots on sides ; greenish 
white beneath ; nineteen dorsal rows ; 
dorsal scales keeled ; body somewhat 
stout ; food, frogs, toads, mice, etc. ; 
stouter than Eutamia saurita. This 
snake is commoner in New York 
than any other species. It is found 
from Essex County to Westchester 
County, and I remember it as the 
most familiar snake about Lake 
Mahopac, Putnam County. It 
frequents wet meadows, and is 
generally found near the water. 
The female bears a great number Garter snake ' 30 inches - 
of young ; she is ovoviviparous. 
Professor Baird says he has killed one with no less 
than eighty-three little ones about six inches long. 
It is a disagreeable snake to handle, as it emits a 
fetid odor. Common through the United States, ex- 




76 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

cepting the Pacific coast ; but I have not yet seen 
one in the White Mountain region ; it evidently pre- 
fers a warmer climate. It is abundant, however, in 
Illinois. 

Still another species of the garter snake (Eut&nia 
sirtalis dorsalis) is common throughout the United 
States. This species is brownish olive above, with 
three broad green white stripes, dark spots on the 
sides, and greenish white beneath. 

The brown, or spotted snake {Storeria dekayi). 
Length, twelve inches ; ash or chestnut- brown 

above, with a clay-colored dorsal band, 
dotted along the margin two scales 
apart ; gray -white beneath ; a dark 
patch on either side of the back of the 
head ; seventeen dorsal rows ; food, in- 
sects, etc. Exceedingly common in New 
York and Massachusetts ; abundant on 
the shores of Lake Champlain. Maine 
to Wisconsin, Florida, and Texas. 

The red-bellied snake {Storeria oc- 
cipitomaculata). Length, twelve inches ; 
pretty ; ash, chestnut, or even olive- 
brown above, with three distinct light- 
colored irregular spots behind the head ; 
a beautiful reddish-salmon beneath ; fif- 

Red -bellied 

snake, 12 inches, teen dorsal rows ; dorsal scales keeled ; 



OUR AXCIEXT ENEMY THE OPHIDIAN. 77 

food, insects, etc. Very abundant everywhere on 
meadows and grassy ground, and associated with 
Storeria dekayi. Maine to Florida and Texas. 

Kirtland's snake {Clonophis Jcirtlandi ; Trojjido- 
clonium hirtlandi of other authors). Length, six- 
teen inches ; a beauty ; light, ruddy brown above, 
with three alternating series of round 
black spots, the central ones of which are 
indistinct and the smallest ; reddish or 
perhaps yellowish beneath, with a row 
of small black spots on either side ; nine- 
teen dorsal rows ; body stout. It will 
flatten its body and remain motionless to 
escape detection. A Western snake. 
Ohio to Illinois. 

The water snake or water adder 
(Natrwc fasciata sipedon ; Nerodia 
sipedon of other authors). Length, 
forty eight inches ; dull bronze 
brown above, redder on the 
sides ; transverse light irregu- 
lar bands margined with black ; 

yellowish to reddish beneath ; Water snake, 48 inches. 

twenty-three dorsal rows ; head 

narrow and long ; strongly carinated scales. This 
snake frequents marshes, overflowed meadows, and 
the shores of streams and ponds, climbs among the 




78 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



bushes, coils there, and slips into the water when 
alarmed ; it is a good swimmer, and a great fighter 
when enraged, but it is perfectly harmless. It is 
the cast skin of this reptile which that interesting 
woodland bird, the crested flycatcher (Myiarchus 
crinitus), is so fond of as a lining for her nest.* 
The food of the water adder is 
frogs, small fish, salamanders, etc. 
Common from Massachusetts to Wis- 
consin and Georgia. In 
the South it is called 
the water moccasin. 
Another species of water 
snake, sometimes called the 
queen snake (JVatrix lebe- 
ris ; Begina leberis of other 
authors), length, twenty- 
three inches, also common 
in the East, is differently marked ; the color above 
is chestnut- or chocolate-brown, with a lateral yel- 
low band and three narrow black dorsal stripes ; yel- 
lowish beneath ; nineteen dorsal rows ; dorsal scales 
carinated. Frequents the banks of streams, and shal- 
low water where there are loose stones. Common 




Queen snake, 23 inches. 



* The nest is usually in a hole fifteen feet up in a tree, and it 
is lined with bits of roots, grasses, and snake's skin. 



OUR ANCIENT ENEMY THE OPHIDIAN. 79 

from New York to Wisconsin ; abundant in the 
mountains of Pennsylvania and Ohio. 

The blowing or deaf adder or hognose (Heterodon 
platyrhinus). Length, thirty inches ; yellow-gray 
and sepia-brown above, checkered with about thirty 
dark dorsal blotches ; yellowish beneath ; a dark band 
across the forehead, and a pug nose ; strongly cari- 
nated scales back of the head; twenty -five dorsal 
rows. This beggar has a threatening aspect when we 
approach him, but he is perfectly harmless ; he is "all 
bark and no bite," flattening his head and body out 
until he looks twice as big as he really is, and hissing 
like a steam engine, with an effect of fearful malig- 
nancy. He is the creature, too, who, so hard of hear- 
ing, was the occasion of that familiar and suggestive 




Hognose snake, blowing adder, 30 inches. 

saying, " as deaf as an adder.'- He is common through 
the Eastern and Southern States, is rare in New 
York, and probably is not found at all in New Eng- 
land. 

The hognose snake {Heterodon simus). Length, 



80 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

twenty -six inches; stouter and smaller than H. jpla- 
tyrhinus\ light brown-yellow, with a dorsal series 
of thirty -five transverse black blotches ; sides with one 
to three smaller series; yellowish beneath; twenty- 
three to twenty-seven dorsal rows; a decided pug 
nose, evidently of great use in burrowing through the 
soil. Common in the West and South. 



CHAPTEE V. 

ACCOMPLISHED VOCALISTS. 

The Robin, Hermit Thrush, Veery, Redstart, Wood 
Pewee, etc. 

All the strange world of wild life offers no 
greater contrast than that between the snake and the 
bird. The latter is a true musician ; the former is as 
mum as the brown leaf under which he hides. Who 
has heard the robin's note and failed to recognize the 
fact that the bird is a musician ? 

I do not make a random selection of the robin 
(Merula migrator id) among the long list of singing 
birds, and intimate that he is a musician beyond the 
rest. Many a woodland bird is a better singer ; but 
to every thrush's song we will hear a score of robins' 
songs, and some one of the robins will most likely be 
an accomplished vocalist, just like the one whose 
music I have interpreted a little farther on. 

We respond to the musical side of Nature only in 
proportion to the development of our " ear for music." 

It must be admitted that this very common expres- 

7 81 



82 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

sion implies that there are those who have no ear for 
music — those, in other words, who are tone-deaf. 
But tone-deafness is simply a qualifying term, and 
we are forced to admit that the person without an ear 
for music is to a certain extent deaf. Now, a par- 
tially deaf person will hardly be able to distinguish 
apart the songs of two different robins, one of which 
is much more musical than the other. So I must 
appeal to the imagination of the unmusical as well 
as the musical mind in order to have my bird songs 
understood ; they must not be taken too literally.* 

I have said that we respond to the music of Na- 
ture according to the degree of our musical percep- 
tion ; but it only needs a little cultivation of our sense 
of hearing to be able to intelligently grasp the mu- 
sical idea which Nature is constantly suggesting. 
Thus a musical robin last June sang the following mel- 
ody, more or A Q*"X^ ,, .f- 
less perfectly: Ifoi/flfvlto 'lH/vl I ^ ' 1|t5 ^ 



* Without imagination it would be difficult, if not impossible, 
to understand a wild bird's song. One has not only to hear all 
the notes with an attentive ear, but sort them out, so to speak, 
and transmute them to truer and better conditions. Thus, what 
is doubtfully A in a bird's song must be positively A in the hear- 
er's mind ; and a musical fifth which is off a quarter or half a 
tone must be considered — not a bit off ! In music we allow only 
tones and half-tones — for instance, C and D ; between the two is 
C sharp, the half-tone. The bird is very apt to sing a quarter- 
tone, that is something halfway between C and C sharp. 



ACCOMPLISHED VOCALISTS. 83 

But this song was suggestive rather than positive ; 
the robin produced all the melody, but it was a vague 
melody. One could not be quite positive that every 
turn was meant to be just what the musical mind de- 
manded that it ought to be. 

Nature is always suggesting, but never complet- 
ing ; she does not commit herself to measured tones 
and exact musical phrases any more than she does to 
exact primary colors. It is invariably that vagueness 
of purport that renders her work fascinating, and in- 
spires the artist to take hold of it and make the mean- 
ing plain. 

There is no doubt in my mind that the robin tried 
to touch as many tones of regular intervals as he 
could. Certainly he had more excuse for errors 
than the unmusical man who vowed that he could 
always distinguish " My country, 'tis of thee," from 
" Yankee Doodle." But who, pray, would call the 
robin unmusical that could produce such a melody as 
that I have transcribed ? Without interpretation, his 
song, although jerky, agitated, and vague in meaning, 
would still be perfectly musical. I have taken no 
liberties with his triplets. 

But here is another specimen from a sprightly 
musician who sang in a maple tree for a few min- 
utes one day last June, just before my studio win- 
dow (in Campton, X. H.), and then disappeared 



kjjjji j i j iij'jj i 



84 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

never to return. 
It was a Baltimore 
oriole {Icterus gal- 
hula\ and his simple musical phrase was absolutely 
true in pitch, differing in this respect from my 
robin's song. But the most remarkable thing about 
a really musical oriole — one may not happen to be as 
melodic as another — is the way he syncopates. Now 
syncopation in music is equivalent to the dropping of 
an important note ; one of accent or emphasis. Who 
has not heard in the streets the shrill fife and drum 
with the measured boom of the bass drum, and who 
does not remember the turn the latter makes at the 
end of a musical phrase ? It sounds as though the 
next to the last " boom " was dropped in the street, 
and the drummer, stooping to pick it up, lost a little 
time and then hurriedly made it up thus : Boom ! 

boom ! boom ! boom ! boom ! boom ! boom ! 

boom-boom ! 

This is a perfect syncope, and it is exactly what 
the whistling oriole is continually doing. Here is a 
second instance of dropped notes in a little song I 
once heard in the Harvard Botanical Garden, Cam- 

bridge - in "*■ Vin 1 1 1 1 1 1 ■ i r 1 1 t 



But this oriole 



was not quite so musical as the one I heard in Camp- 
ton, N. H. 










THE BANKS 
OF THE 

PEMIGEWASSET, 
THE HOME OF THE 
BLACK-BILLED CUCKOO 

COCCYZUS 
ERYTHROPHTHALM US. 



ACCOMPLISHED VOCALISTS. 85 

I have long since learned who plays the " kettle- 
drum" of the bird orchestra; he is the black-billed 
cuckoo (Coccyzus erythrophthalmus) a long, lithe, 
pigeonlike creature, who is subject to nervous attacks 
after a prolonged silence, and lets off the following : 

t poco Tltard. ^r=^ But the black - billed 

l ff f f f C C f|» f f P h^ cuckoo does not confine 
Cuc-uc-ucue-co-oo co -o ca-o co-<k! himself to exactly this ar- 
rangement of his two notes. Sometimes he sings thus : 

It is also not quite fair to 



|(ji) / J i / 4 ^_4 : liken him to a noisy drum- 



Cuc-uc-uc cacJc-oocack-ooi mej . Hig note j g mQre w 

ouant than that of the tubby kettledrum, and as a 
musician he is the soul of accuracy in his musical 
thirds and fourths. But the mention of this reminds 
me of the musical attempts of the crow. I wonder 
how many of us have caught the crow in the act of 
coughing up a number of musical tones ! It is the 
most absurd performance in all the category of wild 
music. The crow when he sings is nothing short of 
a clown. He ruffles his feathers, stretches his neck 
like a cat with a fishbone in her throat, and with a 
most tremendous effort delivers a series of henlike 
squawks double fortissimo, thus : 
What he means by the call 
it is difficult to say, unless it has 



4+^- 



some connection with the general " caucus " which 



86 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



is sure to be in full session at no great distance down 
in the copse on the meadow 'border. But the crow 

is not unmusical after all. 
His "caw" is a note 
of decisive emphasis 
which can not be justly 
slighted in the grand 
orchestra of Nature. The 
tone of it has that wood- 
en, reedlike quality which 
best represented by the oboe, 
an instrument of a singularly pastoral 
nature. Haydn fully appreciated this 
fact, and in his oratorio of The Seasons 
gave it a very prominent position not 
only in a fine adagio, but in a long 
The musical Crow, solo imitating the crowing of a rooster. 
Notice how nicely the notes follow 
by sliding down the 
chromatic scale. 

Here is a case 3£=H3Q2^2: 




the last part of the " crow " 



£ 



*rtt^7 



& 



where a great 
musician followed the suggestion of Nature very 
closely; and I could enumerate several others in 
which Nature's intention was most admirably carried 
out. However, I can only record one extreme in- 
stance, which is as pathetic as it is interesting ; and 




THE YELLOWHAMMER. 
COLAPTES AURATUS. 

" On the wooded border of a meadow. 9 ' 



ACCOMPLISHED VOCALISTS. 87 

whenever I hear the golden-winged woodpeckers 
(yellow-hammer's) nasal and monotonous voice, I re- 
member how much Beethoven made of it in his Pas- 
toral Symphony. In the summer of 1823, long after 
the great composer had become " stone deaf," he was 
walking with his friend Schindler on the wooded 
border of a meadow not far from Vienna. " Seating 
himself on the grass," says Schindler, " and leaning 
against an elm, Beethoven asked me if any yellow- 
hammers were to be heard in the tree above us. 
But all was still. He then said, 'This is where I 
wrote The Scene by the Brook,* while the yellow- 
hammers were singing above me, and the quails, 
nightingales, and cuckoos calling all around.' I 
asked why the yellow-hammer did not appear in 
the movement with the others; on which he seized 
his sketchbook and wrote the following phrase : 
' There's the little composer,' said 
he, ' and you'll find that he plays 
a more important part than the 
others, for they were nothing but a joke.' " 

"Well, the power of a musician's imagination to 
transmute a few tones is illimitable, for the notes 
above are not those of the yellow-hammer at all. 
But, as I have already intimated, imagination is neces- 

* Die Scene am Bach, the second movement of the sixth (Pas- 
toral) symphony. 



ignit 



88 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOEEST. 

sary on the part of the hearer to understand the mu- 
sical drift of Nature. So Beethoven gives his imag- 
ination full play, and constructs a part of his sym- 
phony not from the yellow-hammer's monotonous 
"kee-er, kee-er" alone, __ 

but from the association nm f f \ \ f f f (E f f " 
of these vigorous tones 

with the milder ascending tones of still another bird 
— the nightingale, perhaps. 

To my mind Beethoven's six notes and others 
like them of constant recurrence in The Scene by 
the Brook are remarkably suggestive of the hermit 
thrush (Turdus aonalaschkce pallasii), our most 
gifted American songster — the prima donna of the 
orchestra. The notes of this bird always fly upward 
with bounding emphasis to some extremely high point, 
and after a short interval these three very high notes 
/-p> succeed, followed by a whispered "wee- 

bv^J-^jl chee-weechee " too attenuated for me to 
1 a. I record by musical signs. 

•*" Much has been written about the music 

of the hermit thrush, but I have found nothing which 
treats the bird with justice except the remarkably 
faithful records jotted down by Mr. Simeon Pease 
Cheney.* It is almost exclusively to this gifted mu- 

* Author of Wood Notes Wild ; he died May 10th, 1890. 



ACCOMPLISHED VOCALISTS. 



89 



sician, who has lived among the birds in the green 
hills of Vermont, that we are indebted for any scien- 
tific knowledge of bird music. 

In a previous volume * I have devoted some at- 
tention to the songs of the thrushes, and have given 
a song of the hermit thrush which is almost identical 
with one reported by Mr. Cheney. It is character- 
ized by thirds and triplets. Here is a portion of it : 



8V<3Li 




¥- 



f f>i rrrHf 



But this is only one phase, although a very common 



one, of the hermit's music, 
better than that, and be- 
ber of most extraordinarily 
very whistles, he gives us a |^{S 
reedlike series of pianissimo 
tones which I can only liken 
to those of a 
harmonicon. 

It is very 
likely that this peculiar na- 
ture of these pianissimo notes — 
they can not be heard more than 
forty feet away — suggested to 



He can do even 
sides a num- 
clear sil- 
subdued, 



#tj| 




The Hermit Thrush. 



* Familiar Features of the Roadside. 



90 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

Burroughs the hymnlike quality of the hermit's song 
which he so often mentions. I must quote what he 
says : " A strain has reached my ears from out the 
depths of the forest that to me is the finest sound in 
nature — the song of the hermit thrush. ... It ap- 
peals to the sentiment of the beautiful in me, and 
suggests a serene religious beatitude as no other 
sound in nature does. It is perhaps more of an 
evening than a morning hymn, though I hear it at 
all hours of the day. It is very simple, and I can 
hardly tell the secret of its charm. ' O spheral, 
spheral ! ' he seems to say ; ' O holy, holy ! O clear 
away, O clear away ! ' interspersed with the finest 
trills and the most delicate preludes." 

But this is the sentiment of the song ; what of the 
song itself ? That I can only describe with musical 
annotations. There is first a prolonged tone, prob- 
ably A ; this is succeeded by another shorter one a 
third above, another a fifth above, and still another 
an octave above the A. Interspersed are several very 
short notes, which are undoubtedly some of Bur- 
roughs' s " fine trills and delicate preludes." Here is 
the music: „ ^ But we will 

If' <Tf>~\ TT i;\ 



notice that 



the song does 



not end ^^ with the high 

note; there are still three more which glide down- 
ward, finishing at the original A ; these have that 



ACCOMPLISHED VOCALISTS. 



91 



harmonicon quality of which I have spoken. So 

pronounced is this final harmonic tone that it might 

well be expressed thus : n^g*^ 

Now, this is but one 




of six musical 
phrases which a single 7 bird sang. An- 

other, but a less gifted musician, sang a similar phrase. 
* But, of all the singers, not one, 
^^EE5sE: however clear - voiced, equaled 
in dexterity and precision the 
bird I heard last summer, which sang the foil owing: 
^—3- P -^ _ The distinctness and 



t 



ess. 



£| rapidity of the last six 
short notes was simply 
phenomenal ; they furnished a fitting cadenza to a 
long song of certainly eight or nine passages not one 



of which was like an 
the bird finished 
maple tree 



other. After 
his solo — in a 
not ten yards 
from where I sat 
-he fluttered silent- 
ly away to a neigh- 
boring brook to "wet his 
whistle." 

Wholly unlike the her- 
mit's music is that of the skulking veery (Turdus 
fuscescens), who haunts the shrubbery by the river's 
brink, and leaves the hillside grove entirely to his 




The Veery, 



92 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



more accomplished musician cousin. Still, the veery's 
song is the most romantic and suggestive one of the 
twilight hour in spring. His notes are characterized 
by a reedlike quality, which I will liken again to the 
tones of a harmonicon. No other bird has a voice 
like his ; it can best be imitated by humming a low 
tone and whistling a high one ; and it sounds as 
though the little owner was being swung in four suc- 
cessive circles through the air. Somebody has com- 
pared its character to that of a spiral line. Notice 
after the preliminary grace notes the unbroken flow 
of the four clusters which follow : 




O vee. - rtf . . vee - ry . . vee - Ty . . vee - rj/. 

No hermit could do that sort of thing as well ; he 
would not have breath enough. But there is also 
another than spiral effect to this musician's song. 
Sometimes a rare individual sings whose sonorous 

tones vibrate be- .t s f-ibr2i fTfvi* 

tween thirds and |ib^ r ^D^B £& 




fifths, thus : 

And in a chorus of veeries such as I heard last spring 
his notes stand out by contrast with the others in a 
most refreshing way ; let one's ear be never so subtle 
at following a musical cadence, it can not be quick 
enough to catch the full beauty of the last notes of 



ACCOMPLISHED VOCALISTS. 93 

this eccentric singer ; they must be heard over and 
over again to be remembered. They remind one of 
the weird effect of an aeolian harp or a singing tele- 
graph pole,* but they are twice as mysterious. 

But the most mysterious singer of the woodland 
is the chipper and restless little redstart (Setophaga 
rutieilla), whose jet - black 
head and orange shoul- 
ders are continually 
perking out from the 
bordering green of the 
highway, and surprising one 

& J ' r & ^ The Redstart. 

by a sudden and transient 

glimpse of bright color. This little fellow does not 
perch on the tree-top like the indigo bird and the 
scng sparrow when he sings ; he evades the public 
eye, and chirrups on the other side of the tree from 
the inquisitive observer. His song, much more 
sprightly than that of the veery, and much less seri- 
ous, runs thus : c „, ^ - — ^ ^ He is ever 

for an in- 




on the alert 



mm 



t ^si 



sect, and never J ch*- we ae-we-m-weaie-weo. hesitates to 
cut his song short when a tempting mouthful meets 
his eye in the shape of some " crawly bug" on a 

* In extremely cold weather, if one's ear is placed against the 
telegraph pole one will hear a remarkable harmonic vibration of 
the wires, like that of an aeolian harp. 



94 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



leaf near by. The " ching a-wee, cher-wee, wee — ! " 
quite as often ends abruptly as otherwise, and there 
is one less insect in the shrubbery. 

A still more mysterious singer in the wildwood, 
one who sings along with the hermit thrush and 



who has 

the 



ever evaded my watchful eyes, 
wood pewee (Contopus virens). 
I have seen fifty thrushes to one 
pewee, and yet have heard both 
singing at the same time and in 
the same wood. At last, in the 
past season, I saw the pewee : a 
plainly attired little creature, with 
rusty black back and gray-white 
breast. There he was, on a sprig of the gray birch, 
calling his mate, as usual, with " Sally, come here ! 

H- 




The Wood 
Pewee. 



but musically, 
thus : 



r " e ! " 



w^ 



gas 



Sally come here Here! 

It is the most musical of calls, full of suggestive- 
ness, and quite as much a part of the spring orchestra 
as the peep of the Hyla. But the most remarkable 
part of it is the long-drawn-out "H-e-r-e!" which 
might just as well be translated " Whi-e-e-eu ! " It is 
a whistle rapidly descending the scale, precisely like 
the whistle of painful surprise one makes when one's 
"best corn" is trodden on. In the case of the bird 



ACCOMPLISHED VOCALISTS. 



95 



the prolonged note of surprise is, I am always think- 
ing, an indication of his unbounded amazement at 
the unnecessary delay in obeying his peremptory 
summons. He keeps up this whistling for his wife 
all summer long ; the only answer he seems to get 
comes from the borders of a neighboring field. It is 
the call of the chickadee : 

b 



gUie 



Pea/ee. FiddVde de. 



CHAPTER VI. 

STRANGE CREATURES WITH STRANGE VOICES. 
The Bittern, Oivl, Loon, etc. 

A strange sound comes from the meadow swamp 
down by the pond— " G-chug, g-chug, g-chug. It is 
the uncanny voice of the bittern or stake-driver {Bo- 
taurus lentiginosus\ and if we could see him making 
the noise we would exclaim at once, " That bird is 
beastly ill ! " Such a remarkable performance one 
never witnessed ; the distressing musical attempt of 
the crow recorded in the preceding chapter is not a 
circumstance to this convulsive proceeding of the bit- 
tern. He " hiccoughs " wildly several times, and then 
is apparently seized with a most violent fit of nausea, 
producing with each convulsion a hollow " booming " 
noise which on most occasions sounds like somebody 
driving a stake in the ground. * This charming music 
I suppose the naturalist would call the love-song of 
the bird ; it is certainly most common in April, and 
its continuance for half an hour or more is perhaps 

accounted for by the indifference of the female, who 
96 



STRANGE CREATURES WITH STRANGE VOICES. 97 

possibly considers the noise too unattractive for a 
prompt response. Indeed, it is on record that the 
bird has " pumped " for an hour. The sucking sound 
of a pump, I might explain, is considered by some 
the nearest approach to this strange creature's un- 
musical notes. 

If we are near enough to the swamp where the 
bittern stands, we will see a bird, about twenty-four 
inches high, with a slate-gray head and neck — the 
latter black-streaked — and a brown back, standing 
upright and motionless. It really takes quite a sharp 
eye to separate the bird from his surroundings. 
When he moves, his deliberate and stealthy steps are 
hardly perceptible ; but as soon as he opens his bill 
to speak his strange actions attract our notice and 
enlist our sympathy. 

His crop is seemingly distended with air which he 
has swallowed in a most noisy fashion ; every time he 
takes a gulp of it the head is thrown upward and then 
forward, the body is violently convulsed, and, with 
every feather puffed out, one imagines the wretched 
creature is at his last gasp with a torturing fishbone 
in his throat. 

But no ; he is only singing his chant d? amour , or 
amusing himself with a bit of everyday vocal ath- 
letics. Mr. William Brewster, of Cambridge, de- 
scribes the sound as a trisyllabic one, thus : Pump-er- 
8 



98 FAMILIAR LIFE LS T FIELD AND FOREST. 

lunk, pump-er-lunlc, etc. Evidently his bird was a 
"pumper"; but all the bitterns that I have heard 
were "stake-drivers," and sang thus, 
the second syllable closely resembling I » y. h j j j| »p 
the resounding thwack of a woodman's — — 
axe as it drives some stout stake in the ground. 

The bird begins operations by raising his head and 
stretching his neck until the bill is pointed up in the 
air ; then with three or four preliminary snaps of the 
bill, which can be heard fully five hundred feet away, 
off he goes on his g-chug, g-chug, g-chug, g-chug, 
from four to eight times, when he tires of it and takes 
a minute to rest ; then — da capo. 

Thoreau alludes to this remarkable bird thus : 
" The stake-driver is at it again on his favorite 
meadow. I followed the sound and at last got within 
two rods. When thus near, I heard some lower 
sounds at the beginning like striking on a stump or a 
stake, a dry, hard sound, and then followed the gur- 
gling, pumping notes. ... I went to the place, but 
could see no water." It seems Thoreau, like a good 
many others, imagined that the bird made the noise 
with the help of water — by partly submerging his 
bill. But all who know the stake-driver and his 
strange performance now agree that water has noth- 
ing to do with the case. 

I have heard and seen the bird on the river 




THE BITTERN. 
BOTAURUS LENTIGINOSIS. 

" The stake-driver is at it again on 
his favorite meadow." 



STRANGE CREATURES WITH STRANGE VOICES. 99 



meadows of Grafton County, K H., and I know that 
lie makes the noise when there is not a bit of water 
in his vicinity. Bradford 
Torrey records a most inter- 
esting performance of a bit- 
tern which he witnessed in 
company with Mr. Walter 
Faxon,* and he declares that 
the bird was perched on 
the dry remnants of an old 
haystack. He furthermore 
says the sounds are not en- 
tirely caused by an exertion 
of the vocal organs, but are 
connected in some way with 
the distention of the crop 
and the drawing in of the 
breath, not the throwing of 
it out after the crop is full. 

In the dim twilight suc- 
ceeding a warm day in spring 
another strange but familiar note comes across the 
meadow from the edge of the bordering wood, and 
we recognize at once the hoot of an owl. It is a 
barytone note, and from its depth and freedom from 




The Great Horned Owl. 



* The Auk, vol. vi, p. 1. 



100 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

a quivering, weird quality (familiar in the screech- 
owl's notes), we can be sure it comes from one of the 
larger owls. It is, in fact, the voice of the great 
horned owl (Bubo virginianus\ a big, brown-and- 
ocher-colored bird, mottled with black, and remark- 
able for his tufted ears, the conspicuous feathers on 
which stand out fully two inches beyond the contour 
of his head. 

Mr. Frank M. Chapman calls this owl, just as 
many another ornithologist does, "a tiger among 
birds." The creature is a terror to small birds, poul- 
try, squirrels, mice, and rabbits. But he is not quite 
so destructive to the inmates of the henhouse as he is 
made out to be. On the average, not more than one 
owl in four steals a chicken ; all the others feed on 
mice, moles, and other such harmful creatures which 
live on the farm. 

One of the first voices of spring is that of the 
horned owl ; it is not a cheerful one, but it is a pre- 
sage of warm days to come, and is therefore welcome. 

Here are the notes of an owl - 

I heard hooting in May last : JTO^J J J ,] 5 

There is but one domi- h°°, °°/ ©^ oo± 

nant tone to the song ; my grace-notes, of course, 
only indicating a certain modulation of the voice, do 
not indicate a second tone. One of the most extreme 
instances of modulation in a bird's voice is mani- 



STRANGE CREATURES WITH STRANGE VOICES. 101 

fested in that of the loon {Urinator vmber\ whose 
sliding note resembles that outrageous invention 
called a " siren " whistle, which one may hear any 
time in the harbor of Xew York. I do not mean to 
imply by this comparison that the loon when he calls 
sprawls all over the chromatic scale, as the above- 
mentioned whistle does ; he does not ; the screech 
owl comes far nearer that sort of thing. But the 
loon does modulate his " O-ho-oo ! " ^ f » 

in a wild, fortissimo way so nearly like gj g f 



the "siren" that the comparison, to my yo~/?o.q> 

mind, is a very natural one. Mr. Cheney's render 
in2 of the three notes is different : ,, 

but all birds do not sing alike. A * \ — 

I quote what Mr. J. H. Langille 
says of the loon's voice. " Beginning on the fifth 
note of the scale, the voice slides through the eighth 
to the third of the scale above in loud, clear, sonorous 
tones, which on a dismal evening before a thunder- 
storm — the lightning already playing along the inky 
sky — are anything but musical." Here they are : 
f " He has also another but rather soft and 
/ ' ? ff^~i pleasing utterance, sounding like ' Who- 



who-who-who,' the syllables being so 
rapidly pronounced as to sound almost like a shake of 
the voice — a sort of weird laughter." 

This last calmer but still strong cry is usually ut- 



102 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

tered while the bird is on the wing ; it runs thus : 
(»=io8 ^ ^ Many years ago the weird 

X tf * f, | 1 I ] 1 I I I [ [ j I I ' song was a very familiar 

"^ kinn-nn.o-n^n hnn-nn-n-n-n nn-O-O-Ct. ^ „ X „ „ ,-* X xl J !"!.! T~ X 



HoO-00-O-O'O hOO-OO-0-0-0 oo-o-o-o. 



one to me at the twilight 
hour in the wilderness of the Adirondacks. I do not 
know whether the loon to-day frequents the lakes, 
which thirty years ago were his favorite haunts ; I 
do not think he does. The changes in the woods are 
radical, and civilization has introduced numberless 
fashionable and elaborate " camps," which prove 
most conclusively that there is less venison, trout, 
and loon music there than there used to be in the 
" sixties." 

The loon is a retiring character, who avoids all 
contact with the civilized world and lives in the se- 
clusion of the wilderness. In 1887 Mr. Simeon Pease 
Cheney found ample opportunity to study the loon at 
Trout Lake, St. Lawrence County, 1N\ Y., about 
twenty-live miles northwest of Paul Smith's. Ac- 
cording to his account, the nest of a certain loon he 
saw was simply a cavity in some dry muck on the 
ruins of an old muskrat house. The female, he ex- 
plains, shoved herself on it very much as she pushed 
herself into the water, and did not, as "Wilson says, 
approach it on the wing by darting obliquely and 
falling securely in it. Loons never lay more than 
two grayish, olive-brown eggs speckled w T ith black, 



r 4m 



STRANGE CREATURES WITH STRANGE VOICES. 103 

and these are nearly as large (three and a half inches 
long) as those of a goose. 

The loon is a big bird, anywhere from twenty 
to thirty-two inches long from bill to tail, and so 
characteristically 
aquatic 

that he "^^P^>J[i 9ft T^ I 

is absolutely helpless ^| | ^%'Ap^^f^ 

and clumsy on land ; iBP^V^i , Wkl?^&^^^ 
the legs are too far ■■■(■y^ 
back to be o± any r^^^m^^ r 4^li 
service in walking, 
and when on the 
shores of a lake he 
shoves himself for- 
ward partly on his 
breast. I have heard 
sportsmen say that it 
was next to impos- r 
sible to shoot one 
of the creatures ; he " V^ 

The Loon. 

must be struck in 

the head or not at all, as the feathers on the body 
are so thick and close that the shot is effectually 
checked by them ; besides that, as an escaping diver 
the bird is without an equal. He disappears upon 
the slightest provocation, swims under the water an 




104 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

extraordinary distance, and reappears far away, on 
the other side of the lake, perhaps, quite out of gun- 
shot. The following is Mr. Cheney's description of 
an alarmed loon's method of progression on the sur- 
face of the water : " Suddenly there was a furious 
dashing and splashing just behind us, and in a mo- 
ment more one of them rushed by very near us, both 
flying and swimming, with wings in the air and feet 
in the water. He swept by us with a noise like a 
steamboat, but no boat could equal his speed. At 
every stroke of his wings he smote the water as well 
as the air." 

But aquatic birds are always a source of surprise 
to us when we see the rapidity of their progression 
through the water. Last June, when the Pemige- 
wasset River, New Hampshire, had swollen to an 
enormous and resistless flood after a long rain, and I 
was watching the seething water sweeping beneath 
the bridge with fearful rapidity, I was much sur- 
prised to witness the successful efforts of a red- 
breasted sheldrake (Merganser serrator) making up- 
stream, with no inconsiderable amount of speed. I 
shouted and clapped my hands, and the bird, taking 
immediate alarm, flapped his wings and shot over the 
surface of the flying water like an express train. I 
calculated at the time he was making fully thirty 
miles an hour, although relatively with the river bank 




THE PEMIGEWASSET RIVER 
AT BLAIR'S BRIDGE, AND 
THE SHELDRAKE. 



MERGANSER SERRATOR, 

" He slyly proceeds 
up stream." 




5= 



# 4 I 



TOs 



STRANGE CREATURES WITH STRANGE VOICES. 105 

his speed did not count for so much. At ordinary 
times, when the river is low, I have seen this wild 
duck propel himself noisily through the water with a 
rapidity that would rival the best effort of a Harvard 
oarsman. 

On being alarmed the sheldrake utters a melan- 
choly, hoarse " quonk," usually in the key of 0. 
His voice is often heard late in 
the afternoon, when with his fel- 
*** lows he shyly proceeds upstream 
in quest of the little fish that abound in the river. 
He pursues and captures his prey under the water, 
and, like the loon, dives upon the slightest disturb- 
ance which occurs near his retreat. 

Merganser serrator is a red-breasted sheldrake, 
whose white-ringed neck and broad band of rust 
color on the upper breast, black streaked, distinguish 
him from the other species, Merganser americanus, 
whose breast is white tinged with salmon. 

A group of sheldrakes on a quiet bit of the river 
is an interesting gathering to stir up. Occasionally 
one or two individuals make some passing remark 
— probably on the possible presence of an observer in 
the vicinity. The ducks keep a sharp lookout both 
for fish and men ; suddenly some one springs out of 
the neighboring thicket with an abrupt shouting and 
clapping of hands ; instantly the river in the vicinity 



106 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

of the ducks is a scene of wildest turmoil and con- 
fusion, the ducks flee, and the % water is rapidly 
churned up for a quarter of a mile downstream. In 
less than a minute after all is quiet again, and no one 
would think there was a duck within a hundred miles 
of the spot. 

So we turn from the lonesome river brink and 
direct our footsteps to the wood on the hillside ; 
hardly have we stepped within its shade when there 
is the greatest commotion among the ferns and the 
dead leaves, where a hen and her chickens have been 
hiding ; they scatter in all directions. But it was a 
partridge hen, and she has as much trouble in collect- 
ing her faculties as her " chicks/' for we can still hear 
her excited, nervous clucks in the distance. I once 
came upon such a brood so suddenly and noiselessly 
that one of the little things was nearly beneath my foot 
before my intrusion was discovered. With an experi- 
mental turn of mind I immediately began to chirp 
like a lost chicken, and in an instant the distracted 
mother came tearing back to the rescue ; for a few 
moments she stood directly before me in the most 
anxious attitude, and, making the most distressful 
clucks and cries, tried to regain her lost chick. But 
she was shortly convinced that I was a base deceiver, 
and left as hurriedly as she came. 

The partridge {JBonasa umbellus) is responsible 



STRAXGE CREATURES WITH STRANGE VOICES. 107 

for some of the strangest noises that break the still- 
ness of the mountain forest. The female is always 
clucking and quirping on the approach of an intrud- 
ing footstep, and she never ^^^ seems to discov- 
er it until it is within ^Hp^ a C0Il ple of 
yards of her re- — jMt^T^ f treat. I should 
imagine, ^^^^^^^^^ \ not on ^ from tllis 

circum- j^^^^^^^sM. ; J stance but from the 

fact that the male 
bird makes such a rum- 
pus in spring when he 
calls his mate, that she is a 
The Partridge. bit deaf. One almost treads 

upon the tail of a partridge 
before it occurs to the creature to get out of the 
way; then there is a fearful whir-r-r-r-r, violent 
and startling enough to set one's heart beating, and 
the bird is gone, not, however, without making the 
following vocal exclamation, s f j, f i == ~T~~^ 

whistled in a variety of tones \fy ' * l \ \ f 




d3 



as shrill and explosive as some whieu-whieH-eu-eu-eu-eu! 

of the remarks of the red squirrel. I always imagine 
the bird saying, " Why in thunder didn't you say you 
were coming ? it's a shocking surprise ! " 

But this chick-o'-the woods is no fool ; he knows 
he can make noise enough to rattle the sportsman, 
shake his nerves, and spoil his aim, so he does not 




108 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

hurry himself to move off. His mottled brown 
colors are amply protective, and if he " lies low " he 

can save himself 
the trouble of an 
arduous retreat on 
the wing. Par- 
tridges do not care 
^^^^5^^ to fly if they can 

avoid it. Indeed, a 
glance at my draw- 
ing of the wing shows that it is not the best shape 
for flying. Compared with the pigeon's wing * it is 
short and stumpy, although handsome. 

The strangest noise the partridge makes may be 
heard in the spring ; then the male bird mounts an old 
stump or a log and begins his u crow " in the usual 
way, but his voice is silent. He beats his wings ex- 
actly as the rooster does, but with an expert's ability, 
and does no more. Thump, thump, thump, thump, 
thump, thump, th-ur-r-r~r-r-r-r-r-r ! 



Wing of the partridge. 




Thump -ump-umpump-p thr-r-r-r -r -r 



The tone is that of a muffled snare drum. He is un- 
questionably the drummer of Nature's orchestra. 



* The carrier pigeon has been known to fly one hundred miles 
in an hour. 



STRANGE CREATURES WITH STRANGE VOICES. 109 

The great question among naturalists has always 
been how he made the noise. I think the question 
has not long since been answered by more than one 
observer, and one of the best of these answers has 
come from Mr. Cheney. I qnote what he says : " It 
is now plainly to be seen that the performer stood 
straight up, like a junk bottle, and brought his wings 
in front of him with quick, strong strokes, smiting 
nothing but the air, not even his ' own proud breast,' 
as one distinguished observer has suggested. . . . 
The first two or three thumps are soft and compara- 
tively slow, then they increase rapidly in force and 
frequency, rushing onward into a furious whir, the 
whir subsiding in a swift but graduated diminish. 
The entire power of the partridge must be thrown 
into this exercise. His appearance immediately after- 
ward affirms it as strongly as does the volume of 
sound, for he drops into the forlornest of attitudes, 
looking as if he would never move again. In a few 
minutes, however — perhaps five — he begins to have 
nervous motions of the head ; up, up, it goes, and his 
body with it, till he is perfectly erect — legs, body, 
neck, and all. Then for the thunder once more." 

I can add nothing to this perfect description of 
the performance. The noise is made, just as has been 
stated, by the wings beating the air with furious ra- 
pidity. There should be no doubt whatever about 



110 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



that, and all I need to produce a convincing proof of 
the fact is a machine that will vibrate a pair of wings, 
which I have before me as I write, at the rate of five 
hundred times a minute. Hollow the hands and then 
clap them rapidly together a number of times, and a 
somewhat similar sound will be produced, which will 
show how much the air has to do with the case. 

The food of the partridge consists of berries, 
seeds, buds, catkins, insects, and wild fruit. In the 
autumn he will occasionally visit the orchard, and I 
have often discovered him beneath some wild apple 
tree in a copse by the river picking at the fallen fruit. 
In winter the bird still finds ample nourishment 
in the wild woods of the northern mountains, and 
what with wintergreen (Gaultheria procumbens), his 
own berry — partridge berry (Mitchella repens) 
— creeping snowberry (Chiogenes serpylli 
folia), and an abundance of evergreen 
leaves, he is far from starving; all 
these he gets by scratching and 
burrowing in the snow. But it is 
undoubtedly the case that many a 
young bird perishes with its first ex- 
perience of the winter's severe cold. 

In the Northern woods the par- 
tridge will burrow to the interior of a snowdrift and 
pass the nights of intense cold there. The hardy 




The partridge's 
snowshoes. 



STRANGE CREATURES WITH STRANGE VOICES, m 

little creature is also provided with snowshoes, a curi- 
ous fringe of stout, bristly growths arranged along 
the toes, which greatly assist him in walking over the 
snow. This growth begins to show itself on the foot 
by the middle of October, and by the end of March 
it has completely disappeared. 

The flesh of the partridge, in my estimation, is 
incomparably superior to that of the quail, and the 
amount of it on the breast of a plump bird is sur- 
prising. A bird should be kept in the ice chest at 
least three days before it is eaten. 



Partridge berry. 



CHAPTEE VII. 

FURRY FRIENDS WITH FINE SKINS. 
The Wolverene, Fisher, and Marten or Sable. 

It is a question whether we are justified in con- 
sidering the strange wolverene a furry friend. From 
one point of view he is, as his splendid coat furnishes 
us with one of the finest and most beautiful furs of 
the country. But he is certainly not a familiar crea- 
ture among the northern woods in these days ; long 
years ago he was practically extinct in the northeast- 
ern States.* 

Dr. Clinton Hart Merriam writes that several were 
caught at Raquette Lake, in the Adirondacks, as late 
as 1842. Elliott Ooues mentions the fact that a Dr. 
Z. Thomson, writing in 1853, states that the animal 
was then extremely rare in Vermont ; and Mr. Allen 
asserts that as late as 1870 it still lingered among 
the Hoosac hills in Massachusetts. At the present 



* His most southerly range is about latitude 42° for the east- 
ern portion of the continent. 
112 



FURRY FRIEXDS WITH FIXE SKIXS. 113 

day all the skins which are brought into the market 
come from the far West and Xorthwest. 

But we can not afford to pass the wolverene, or 
glutton, as he is sometimes called (Gulo luscus), with 
only a nod of recognition ; he is entirely too in- 
teresting. His Latin name means "glutton," and 
his record in literature in this connection is quite 
unique.* He is the first and largest if not the most 
important member of the JTustelidce family, that 
splendid furry tribe whose skins have such a high 
market value. He is also the most remarkable 
member of the subfamily Ifustelince, which includes 
the long-bodied, short-legged martens, weasels, ferret, 
and mink. The skunk, badger, and otter are his 
more distant relatives, and it certainly would be 
inexcusably partial to consider these, and not the 
wolverene. 

This strange animal is from two to three feet long 
— less than that, so far as general appearances go — 
with a chunky figure like that of a bears cub. His 
coat is shaggy and blackish or dark brown, with light 

* We find it gravely stated that this brute will feast upon the 
carcass of some large animal until his belly is swollen as tight as 
a drum, and then get rid of its burden by squeezing himself be- 
tween two trees, in order that it may return to glut itself anew — 
an alleged climax of gluttony to which no four-footed beast at- 
tains, and for the parallel of which we must refer to some of the 
most noted gormandizers of the Roman Empire. — Fur-bearing 
Animals. Elliott Coues. 
9 



114 FAMILIAR LIFE IN" FIELD AND FOREST. 

chestnut bands, which, begin at either shoulder, ex- 
tend down the flanks, and meet at the root of the 
tail ; this is short, bushy, and characterized by long 
drooping hairs. His back is high and arched, and 
his head and tail are carried low. The forehead is 
a light gray color, and beneath the throat is another 
patch of the same pale tint. The head is broad and 
rounded, the muzzle pointed, the beadlike eyes are 
small, and the rounded ears (well furred on both 
sides) are set low, and scarcely extend beyond the 
fur in their vicinity. The feet are large and black- 
ish, with sharp, curved, whitish claws about an inch 
long. 

The wolverene, like others of its tribe, possesses 
anal glands which secrete a disgustingly nauseous, yel- 
low-brown fluid, which is discharged by the usual 
nipplelike duct terminations situated just within the 
anus ; the odor is ten times as bad as that of the 
skunk. But a more serious characteristic of this ani- 
mal is his propensity to steal and hide things. He 
annoys the Northern trappers by upsetting their 
traps, stealing the bait, and sometimes killing and de- 
vouring the martens which are caught. 

A Mr. Ross relates the following: "An instance 
occurred within my own knowledge in which a hunt- 
er and his family having left their lodge unguarded 
during their absence, on their return found it com- 




THE WOLVERENE. 
GULO LUSCUS. 

"A strange animal with a chunky figure." 



FURRY FRIENDS WITH FIXE SKIXS. H5 

pletely gutted — the walls were there, but nothing else. 
Blankets, guns, kettles, axes, cans, knives, and all the 
other paraphernalia of a trapper's tent had vanished, 
and the tracks left by the beast showed who had been 
the thief. The family set to work, and by carefully 
following up all his paths, recovered, with some tri- 
fling exceptions, the whole of the lost property." 

The most extraordinary habit of this strange ani- 
mal is thus recounted by Elliott Coues : " We need 
not go beyond strict facts to be impressed with the 
wit of the beast, whom all concede to be ' as cunning as 
the very devil.' ... It is said that if one only stands 
still, even in full view of an approaching carcajou " 
— the Indian name for the wolverene — " he will come 
within fifty or sixty yards, provided he be to the 
windward, before he takes alarm. . . . On these and 
similar occasions he has a singular habit, one not 
shared, so far as I am aware, by any other beast what- 
ever : he sits on his haunches and shades his eyes 
with one of his fore paws, just as a human being 
would do in scrutinizing a distant object. The carca- 
jou, then, in addition to his other and varied accom- 
plishments, is a perfect skeptic, to use this word in 
its original signification. A skeptic, with the Greeks, 
was simply one who would shade his eyes to see more 
clearly. 

The handsome fur of the wolverene brings a high 



116 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

price among the furriers, the finest skins being valued 
at four dollars and the coarser ones at two dollars. 
It is said that the Indians and Esquimaux use the 
fur for fringing their garments, as they do that of 
the wolf, the skin being cut into strips for this pur- 
pose. 

Another member of the Mustelince tribe, and one 
which approaches the long-bodied, short-legged form 
of the tribe more nearly than the wolverene, is the 
fisher, or Pennant's marten (Mustela* pennanti), 
often called the pecan, and rarely the black cat or 
black fox. There are two American species of mar- 
ten which are distinguished apart by the following 
characteristics, according to Elliott Coues : 

Mustela pennanti : Length, two feet or more ; 
tail, a foot or more ; ears low, wide and semicircular ; 
color blackish, lighter on fore upper parts and head ; 
darkest below ; no light throat patch. 

Mustela americana : Length, less than two feet ; 
tail, less than a foot long and uniformly bushy ; ears 
high, subtriangular ; color brown, etc., not darker 
below than above ; usually a large yellowish or tawny 
throat patch. 

* The name mustela means a kind of weasel. " Its adjective 
derivative, mustelinus, refers primarily to general weasellike qual- 
ities, and secondarily to the peculiar tawny color of most species 
of weasels in summer. For example, the tawny thrush of Wilson 
is called Turdus mustelinus." — Elliott Coues. 



FURRY FRIENDS WITH FINE SKINS. 117 

These species form the connecting link between 
the wolverene and the weasels, which is somewhat 
evidenced by a more heavily haired, stouter body 
than that of the sinuous weasel, and a slenderer figure 
than that of the wolverene. Of the two martens the 
fisher is by far the largest, as may be seen by Dr. 
Coues's description above ; indeed, according to Dr. 
Merriam, the average length of the animal is three 
feet and a half from nose to tip of tail. 




The prey of the fisher is mostly mice, squirrels, 
partridges, small birds, frogs, fish, and sometimes 
hares and even raccoons. Strangely enough, he does 
not hesitate to attack the well-armored porcupine, 
which he kills by biting in the belly — so says Sir 
John Richardson. But I copy from Dr. Merriam's 
account of the animal the indubitable proofs of the 
fisher's liking for porcupine flesh, and whether he at- 
tacks the porcupine in a vulnerable spot or not, it is 
perfectly plain he does not have an easy time of it. 
" The intestine of one was lined with rows of porcu- 



118 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

pine's quills arranged like papers of needles through- 
out its length, but they did not penetrate the sides. 
Many were imbedded in the neck muscles, and in the 
head, chest, back, and legs, but no inflammation was 
caused. The needles were about two and a half 
inches long." 

The fisher is an inhabitant of the wilderness, and 
in the northern woods he is occasionally seen prowl- 
ing about the vicinity of lonesome ponds and ever- 
green swamps. Dr. Merriam states that the fisher 
has been found of late years in the Adirondack 
woods, and to my certain knowledge he still exists in 
the secluded forests of northern New Hampshire and 
Maine. Besides the few furs which come into the 
market from the northeastern States, there are a 
large number which come from the vicinity of Lake 
Superior, Canada, the Northwest, and the Pacific 
coast. The parallel of 35° is considered by Elliott 
Coues the fisher's southern limit. 

The name of the animal is somewhat misapplied, 
as he does no fishing for himself unless it is on the 
borders of the pond. On the whole the fisher is most 
decidedly arboreal ; he spends a great deal of his 
time exploring the trees for his prey. He is agile 
and muscular to a degree almost exceeding the ath- 
letic accomplishments of the cat tribe, and it is said 
that he can make a descending bound of forty feet, 



FURRY FRIENDS WITH FINE SKINS. 



119 



never failing at the end to secure his prey. He is, 
in fact, the expert climber of the family to which he 
belongs. In a race with the raccoon the latter's 
heels are not lively enough to save his hide ; the 
poor coon has not a ghost of a chance. I copy what 




" He spends a great deal of 
his time exploring the 
trees for his prey." 



Mr. Peter Eeid, of Washington County, New York, 
has said long years ago on that point : " While hunt- 
ing early one winter 1 found the carcass of a freshly 
killed sheep, and by the tracks around it in the light 
snow perceived that a fisher had surprised a raccoon 
at the feast. A hard chase had ensued, the raccoon 
tacking at full speed to avoid his pursuer, the fisher 
outrunning and continually confronting his intended 



120 FAMILIAR LIFE m FIELD AND FOREST. 

victim. I saw where at length the fisher had made 
an assault, and where a bloody contest had evidently 
ensued. The raccoon, worsted in the encounter, had 
again broken away and the chase was resumed, but 
with diminished energy on the part of the raccoon ; 
the animal had been soon overtaken again, and a still 
more desperate encounter had taken place. The 
coon had failed fast, and it had at last become mere- 
ly a running fight, when both animals had entered 
a swamp where it was impossible for me to trace 
them further ; but I have no doubt the coon was 
killed." 

It is said that the nest of the fisher is usually in 
a hollow, standing tree, from thirty to forty feet 
from the ground. The female bears from two to 
four young ones about the 1st of May. 

The fisher's skin was evidently not very valuable 
when De Kay wrote, in 1842, thus : " The hunting 
season for the fisher, in the northern part of the 
State (New York), commences about the 10th of 
October and lasts to the middle of May, when the 
furs are not so valuable. The ordinary price is a 
dollar and a half per skin." Such a low figure as this 
would not hold good nowadays, for the least expen- 
sive Eastern skin of the poorest quality brings that 
price, and the most expensive one nine dollars. The 
average price of a good pelt is seven dollars and a 



FURRY FRIENDS WITH FINE SKINS. 



121 



half. Excepting that of the two otters, the fisher's 
fur is the most expensive of any belonging to the 
members of the Musteliclce family. Its prevailing 
color is an admixture of brownish and grayish tints, 
gradually darkening into blackish brown at the hind 
quarters, tail, and legs. The real beauty of the skin 
lies in its rich, smoky brown tone. 




American Sable. 

The fur of the other, smaller marten, sometimes 
called the pine marten or American sable (Mustela 
americana\ is almost as expensive as that of the 
larger species. It is by far the commoner fur of the 
two, and in many respects is quite as handsome. This 
smaller marten is one of the most beautiful of our 
little American animals, and is common yet among 
the evergreen forests of the North. His environment 
is properly the trackless mountain wilderness where 
the fir and the spruce cast their mingled shade over 
the tangled undergrowth of ferns, lycopodiums, shiny 



122 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

wintergreen, and gold thread, and the wild, troubled 
mountain stream bordered by lichen-painted rocks 
and gnarled, moss-covered roots. Here we may see 
his lithe, gliding body appear through the shadows, a 
bright bit of warm color set in the sober green of the 
forest. But the little animal is nocturnal in his habits, 
and one gets a glimpse of him only once in a lifetime ; 
if it is early spring, one may chance to catch sight of 
the female in search of food for her young. Not in- 
frequently she will be seen traversing the limbs of 
the trees hunting for the nests of the thrush and 
vireo. Martens are strictly arboreal in their habits, 
and they are not known to attack poultry. Their 
diet is usually mice in particular, and partridges, 
birds, eggs, frogs, and the larger insects in general ; 
they are expert climbers, and go bird's-nesting with 
great success. As the whole group of Mustelidce is 
characteristically carnivorous, I have grave doubts 
about this animal eating nuts and berries, as some 
writers aver. 

I have said that it was a pretty little animal ; at 
the same time I can not give a description of one in- 
dividual which will do for all. There is such a great 
variety of color in the fur, due to season, age, and other 
conditions, that a single marten's appearance is no 
criterion for that of the genus. The particular ani- 
mal which I remember best of all was tawny brown, 



FURRY FRIENDS WITH FINE SKINS. 123 

not a reddish color like that of a fox, but a soft tone 
nearly like that of a lion, but darker. The feet and 
tail were darker, and the head lighter than the back. 
Mr. B. E. Boss describes the color of the marten 
thus: "In a large heap of skins which I have ex- 
amined minutely there exists a great variety of shades 
darkening from the rarer yellowish white and bright 
orange into a variety of orange-browns considerably 
clouded with black on the back and belly, and ex- 
hibiting on the flanks and throat more of an orange 
tint. The legs and paws, as well as the top of the 
tail, are nearly pure black. The claws are white and 
sharp. The ears are invariably edged with a yellow- 
ish white, and the cheeks are generally of the same 
hue. The forehead is of a light brownish gray, dark- 
ening toward the nose, but in some specimens it is 
nearly as dark as the body. The yellowish marking 
under the throat (considered a specific distinction of 
the pine marten) is in some cases well defined and 
of an orange tint, while in others it is almost perfect- 
ly white. It also varies much in extent, reaching to 
the fore legs in some instances ; in others consisting 
of merely a few spots, and in still others being en- 
tirely wanting." 

The fur is variable, of course, according to season ; 
in November it is in prime condition, and in winter 
it still continues full and soft, about an inch or so 



124 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

deep, and with a great number of large black hairs 
interspersed. 

The pine marten is an agreeable little creature 
when tamed, and is almost entirely without the un- 
pleasant odor which is characteristic of the family to 
which he belongs. But he has a pugnacious disposi- 
tion, and quarrels with any part of the animal world 
he rubs against. He fights and kills the weaker ro- 
dents, and is a terror to the woodland birds. He is a 
sworn enemy of the red squirrel, as we may see by 
the following account of Mr. G. S. Miller, Jr. : " At 
Nipigon " [Ontario] " a trapper told me that the mar- 
tens, wherever they occur in sufficient numbers, so 
terrorize the red squirrels by constant persecutions 
that the noisy rodents, learning that silence is their 
best protection, stop chattering. Hence an abundance 
of silent squirrels is, according to my informant at 
least, a certain indication that marten fur is plenti- 
ful." 

The little animal is somewhat shy, and retreats to 
the seclusion of the deep woods upon the advancing 
settlement of the country. I recollect that as early 
as the year 1867 the marten was plentiful in the Adi- 
rondack woods. The early French settlers, in fact, 
named one of the rivers having its rise in these 
northern woods for him — the Ausable River. He is 
still common in the evergreen woods of that region, 



FURRY FRIENDS WITH FIXE SKINS. 125 

and hundreds are trapped there every year for their 
valuable fur. In Maine he is also common in the 
vicinity of Lake tlnibagog, and he frequently appears 
in the spruce forests of northern New Hampshire. 
Notwithstanding his shyness, he is a bit inquisitive, 
and trappers say that if one should meet him and 
begin to whistle, his curiosity will overcome his pru- 
dence, and he will allow himself to be approached 
near enough to be easily shot. "When he is trapped, 
if any one draws very near he will raise his hair, 
arch his back, show his teeth, and growl and hiss 
like a cat. If attacked by a dog, he will fasten on 
his nose if he can, and bite so severely that the dis- 
tracted dog will frequently let go his game and suffer 
it to escape. 

The female makes her nest in the hollow of a 
log, or rarely in some secluded spot on the ground, 
and bears from four to six young ones in early 
April. The animal when full grown is about the 
size of a cat, but slenderer and much shorter legged. 
The tail, hairs and all, is nearly a foot long, bushy, 
and in this respect quite the reverse of that of the 
pecan. The head is rather triangular and conical, 
and the eyes are set obliquely at the point where the 
muzzle begins to contract. 

The finest marten furs come from the country 
north of Lake Superior, and from Labrador and 



126 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

Alaska. These are quoted at from five to seven 
dollars each, while those coming from New York 
and New England rarely bring more than two 
dollars. 



CHAPTEE VIII. 

FUR-CLAD FIGHTERS. 
The Weasels. 

^V"e may consider the weasels furry friends, if 
we look at the matter from an unprejudiced stand- 
point, and do the creatures the justice to admit that 
they are remarkably serviceable, not so much in the 
form of a muff or a collar as in the capacity of just 
and effective destroyers of yermin. If the wolverene 
is a friend on account of his fur, then the weasel is a 
better friend, because he can beat the record of the 
best-trained terrier in rat-killing. The sight of a 
weasel just issuing from a rat hole licking his chops 
after a good day's work, prompts one to call him a 
glorious fighter ; the animal deserves our congratula- 
tions, and he gets them. But when he comes out of 
the henhouse and leayes thirty or forty bedraggled 
corpses behind him which are not rats, but chickens, 
then we reach for the gun and pay him in his own 
coin. In the latter case I should properly introduce 

him hors de combat and physically exhausted, as the 

127 



128 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

celebrated chicken-killer who has done his best ! It 
altogether depends upon what he happens to have 
done whether we shall consider him as a friend or 
a foe. 

Now, the next relatives of the martens are the 
little and larger weasels, the latter being the most 
bloodthirsty little rascal, taking size into considera- 
tion, of all animal creation. This seems a sweeping 
assertion, but I shall presently gather together suffi- 
cient data to establish the charge beyond refutation. 

The little brown weasel {Putorius * cicognani — 
Putorius vulgaris, of Merriam) is a long-bodied ani- 
mal scarcely larger than a rat. He lives along water 
courses, in swamps, and under rocky ledges, and his 
prey comprises a variety of small creatures, such as 
mice, moles, birds and their eggs, insects, and frogs. 
He is reputed to be an enemy of chickens, but there 
is no doubt whatever that some confusion exists be- 
tween him and the larger weasel in the minds of the 
farmers. The latter is really the destroyer who en- 
ters the poultry yard, and not the little brown weasel. 

The following are the principal points of distinc- 
tion between the two species : 

Little brown weasel {Putorius cicognani) ; length 
of body without tail, six to eight inches ; tail short, 

* From the Latin putor, a stench, in allusion to the putrid 
odor of some members of the genus. 



FUR-CLAD FIGHTERS. 129 

cylindrical, black at the tip ; color of under parts 
buff-white, sharply defined in nearly a straight line 




Little brown Weasel. 



beside the brown ; feet white beneath ; always turns 
white on the approach of winter.* 




Larger weasel in his summer coat. 

Larger weasel (Putorius noveboracensis — Puto- 
rius erminea, of Coues) ; length of body without tail, 
eight to eleven, or oftener nine to ten, inches ; tail 
at all seasons bushy, conspicuously black-tipped for 
about one third of its total length. Color of under 

* In Connecticut P. cicognani always turns white in winter, 
while P. noveboracensis never does. 
10 



130 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

parts buff- white irregularly defined against the brown ; 

feet brown ; turns white only in the northern part of 

its range. The male of this species is much larger 

than the female. 

In respect to the general color both weasels are 

the same. But Elliott Coues makes an emphatic 
point of distinction between the 
two species, which is obvious in a 
comparison of the tails. He says : 
" This member is both absolutely 
and relatively shorter in the weasel 
than in the ermine. ... In the 
weasel the tail is without the slight- 
est bushy enlargement, and in most 
of the specimens I have seen there 
is no black whatever at the end of 
weasels 1 tails. t h e ta j] . on t h e contrary, the end is 

1. P. rixosus ; , 

2. p. cicognani ; frequently tipped with a few white 

3. P. noviboracensis. , . „ T tl . -, 

hairs. * In other specimens, how- 
ever, the tail is dusky, while in one from Oregon the 
tip is quite blackish." He furthermore says, speak- 
ing of the skins which he had seen (from British 
America) of the whole animal, that " they were about 
six inches long, and also somewhat peculiar in the 
intensity of a liver-brown shade." Now Dr. Coues 

* He evidently refers to the northern or Arctic species called 
the least weasel (Putorius rixosus), which is not found in the East. 




FUR-CLAD FIGHTERS. 131 

has recorded tlie common color of the weasel as a 
variable mahogany brown, and he cites this peculiar 
liver color as an exception to the rule ; but I must 
say that the weasels which I was fortunate enough to 
see last summer in broad daylight (at ten o'clock in 
the morning) were an unmistakable seal brown of a 
lightish tone, or liver brown — i. e., a color produced 
by mixing six parts sepia with one part crimson lake. 
But a mahogany-colored weasel I have never seen. 

The weasel is an inquisitive little animal, cease- 
lessly active, and ever on the scent of his prey ; this, 
it is said, he pursues with the intelligence of a hound. 
Mr. Thomas Bell describes the 
weasel's hunt as follows : " In 
pursuing a rat or a mouse it 
not only follows it as long as it 
remains within sight, but con- Head of little brown wea . 
tinues the chase after it has dis- sel ' showin ^ tbe narrow form 

adapted to the exploration of 
appeared, With the head raised sma11 animals' homes under- 
ground. 

a little above the ground, fol- 
lowing the exact track recently taken by its destined 
prey. Should it lose the scent, it returns to the 
point where it was lost, and quarters the ground with 
great diligence till it has recovered it ; thus, by dint 
of perseverance, it will ultimately hunt down a 
swifter and even a stronger animal than itself. But 
this is not all : in the pertinacity of its pursuit it 




132 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

will readily take the water, and swim with great ease 
after its prey." 

The female weasel, a much smaller animal than 
the male, brings forth four, or more frequently five, 
young, and has two or three litters in a year. The 
nest is composed of leaves and herbage, and is warm 
and dry ; usually it is built in a hole under some 
river bank or in the hollow of a tree. 

As a rule the little brown weasel will most likely 
be seen in the woody borders of the meadow, not far 
from the river. Last June, during a most unpre- 
cedented flood of the Pemigewasset River, N". H., 
caused by violent rains, the weasels were driven from 
the river banks to the higher land at the foot of the 
hills. To my unspeakable surprise, I saw, one morn- 
ing while weeding the garden bed in front of the 
house, a number of weasels traveling Indian file 
down the brick walk directly toward me. The baby 
(aged three) stood on the bricks, and as I handed 
him a bachelor's button in compliance with his re- 
quest, I noticed that he seemed a trifle disturbed by 
something near his feet. No wonder ! there were a 
number of long-necked, ratlike creatures plodding 
slowly along, within six inches of his toes, and grunt- 
ing discomposedly like little pigs. On they came, 
the queer, dark-brown, bold-faced things, apparently 
with no thought except that the brick walk was the 



FUR-CLAD FIGHTERS. 



133 



proper thoroughfare to the gate, and that we were in 
the way. I never saw so strange a sight. We stood 
— the babv and I — within four 
feet of the wide-open 
rustic gate, which with 
the surrounding coun- 
try seemed entirely too 
public to the weasels' 
minds. I was still more 
amazed, a moment later, 
while three or four of the 
animals were endeavoring 
to insert themselves between 
the boards of the plank walk 
set scarcely an inch apart, just % 
beside the gate, to notice one * 
of the individuals return a few 
feet, saucily stare us in the face, 
and with a variety of hisses and 
grunts show his disapproval of o 
presence. Still another, much be 
ered by the publicity of the meeting, 
took refuge beneath a neighboring sun- 
flower, and, after squeaking and grunting 
his dissatisfaction a moment longer, con- 
cluded to join his fellows under the plank walk. 
After a while, with a good deal of scrambling and 




134 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

squeezing, they all succeeded in getting there. Then 
the place looked deserted. But presently the regi- 
ment reappeared — Indian file again — down by the 
horse block on the road, at the foot of the terrace ; 
here I had a chance to count them as they marched 
riverward across the road and disappeared in the 
shrubbery on the other side — there were no less than 
nine. I have not the remotest idea why so many of 
them had congregated in the vicinity of the cottage, 
unless the refuse tub around in the rear was the at- 
traction. Truth to tell, on the borders of the wilder- 
ness more wild animals (and tame ones, too, for I 
must include the itinerant cow) visit one's refuse 
tub than may be found in a city menagerie ! 

I have often met the weasel, and he never im- 
pressed me with any shyness of disposition ; but 
others have had a contrary experience ; for instance, 
Dr. Abbott relates the following : " The careless 
snapping of a twig may not startle you, but it tele- 
graphs your whereabouts to creatures many a rod 
away. . . . Not long since I was watching a weasel 
as it tripped along the rough rails of an old worm 
fence. It was intently engaged, following the trail 
of a ground squirrel, perhaps. Suddenly, as if shot, 
it stood in a half -erect posture, turned its head quick- 
ly from one side to the other, then rested one ear on 
or very near the rail, as I thought ; then reassumed a 



FUR-CLAD FIGHTERS. 



135 



semi-erect position, gave a quick, barklike cry, and 
disappeared. There was no mistaking the meaning 
of every movement. The animal had heard a sus- 
picious sound, and recognizing it as fraught with dan- 
ger, promptly sought safety. 

" Extremely curious myself to learn what the 
weasel had heard — for I was sure it was the sound of 



an approaching object — I sat 
awaiting coming events : the 
quickly solved — a man drew 

The assurance of the 
however, in the pres- 
ence of his prey is 
unbounded. He 
throws himself on 
the unsuspecting 
victim like a 
panther, and 



perfectly still 
mystery was 
near ! " 

weasel, 




if it is 
frji/f y a mouse 
or a weasel ancfa rat." squirrel gives 

it one bite on the head, 

piercing the brain and thus killing the creature in 
an instant. His lithe, sinuous form enables him to 



136 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

bend himself in the most extraordinary way and seize 
his prey at the greatest possible advantage. 

The weasel climbs trees with perfect ease, and 
rifles a bird's nest of its occupants or eggs, as the case 
may be. In the barn, among the grain stacks and 
hayricks, he is an invaluable friend to the farmer, 
for he will quickly rid the premises of all mice and 
rats. 

According to Mr. Outram Bangs, the range of this 
weasel extends nearly across the continent, through 
the forest belt; his range has been positively fixed 
from Long Island and Connecticut northward to Lab- 
rador, and westward at least to Fort Snelling, Minn. 
He turns white in winter throughout this range ; the 
hindquarters are tinged with sulphur yellow. The 
skin of this weasel has no especial market value. 

The larger weasel, mistakenly called the ermine or 
stoat {Putorius noveboracensis — Putorius erminea of 
Coues), is not identical with the European species, 
which is considered so valuable for its white fur.* 
As a bloodthirsty character he has no parallel among 
the mammals ; this seems to be a universal opinion 
among those who know the remarkable little crea- 



* Elliott Coues, in Fur-bearing Animals, makes no distinction 
between the European ermine and this larger weasel. The differ- 
ences, however, are very great, and more than sufficient to induce 
me to adopt the conclusions of later authors. 



FUR-CLAD FIGHTERS. 137 

tare well, and there are apparently records enough 
of his murderous deeds to amply justify such an 
opinion. 

One would never think, though, to see the pretty 
little animal in confinement, that he was such a dis- 
reputable character ; but when I search among his 
records I find substantially the same old story every- 
where. Audubon, William Macgillivray (who de- 
scribes the European ermine), Elliott Coues, John 
Burroughs, Dr. Merriam, and J. A. Allen all tell 
equal tales of the creature's relentless passion for de- 
struction. Even E. P. Roe does not let him pass 
without a just " dab " in Nature's Serial Story, and I 
find the tale repeated there of his killing " fifty chick- 
ens in one night " out of " pure cussedness " has gone 
the rounds of the creature's most recent biographers. 
It is apparently unnecessary for me to add anything 
of a like nature to these woeful tales, but I think I 
shall be justified in telling one, the finale of which 
will relieve the series from a character of monotony. 
But first let us have some of that data about the 
so-called ermine's bloodthirsty character which was 
promised on a previous page. 

Audubon says : " Yet, with all these external at- 
tractions, this weasel is fierce and bloodthirsty, pos- 
sessing an intuitive propensity to destroy every ani- 
mal and bird within its reach, some of which — 



138 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

such as the American rabbit, the ruffed grouse, and 
domestic fowl — are ten times its own size. It is a 
notorious and hated depredator of the poultry house, 
and we have known forty well-grown fowls " [later 
accounts make it fifty] " to have been killed in one 
night by a single ermine. Satiated with the blood 
of probably a single fowl, the rest, like the flock 
slaughtered by the wolf in the sheepfold, were de- 
stroyed in obedience to a law of Nature, an instinctive 
propensity to kill. . . . "We have observed an ermine, 
after having captured a hare, . . . first behead it and 
then drag the body some twenty yards over the fresh 
fallen snow, beneath which it was concealed and the 
snow lightly pressed down over it." 

Now let us hear what Elliott Coues has to say : 
" Swift and surefooted, he makes open chase and runs 
down his prey ; ... he assails it not only upon the 
ground, but under it, and on trees and in the water. 
Keen of scent, he tracks it and makes the fatal spring 
upon it unawares ; lithe, and of extraordinary slen- 
derness of body, he follows the smaller creatures 
through the intricacies of their hidden abodes, and 
kills them in their homes ; and if he does not kill for 
the simple love of taking life, in gratification of super- 
lative bloodthirstiness, he at any rate kills instinctive- 
ly more than he can possibly require for his support. 
I know not where to find a parallel among the larger 



FUR-CLAD FIGHTERS. 



139 




carnivora. ... A glance at the physiognomy of the 
weasels would suffice to betray their character. The 
teeth are almost of the highest known raptorial ? ' 
[preying] " character ; the jaws are worked by enor- 
mous masses of muscles covering all the side of the 
skull. The forehead 
is low, and the nose 
is sharp ; the eyes 
are small, penetrating, 
cunning, and glitter 
with an angry green 
li^ht. There is some- 
thing peculiar, more- 
over, in the way that 
this fierce face surmounts a body extraordinarily wiry, 
lithe, and muscular. It ends a remarkably long and 
slender neck in such a way that it may be held at 
right angles with the axis of the latter. AYTien the 
creature is glancing around, with the neck stretched 
up and flat, triangular head bent forward, swaying 
from one side to the other, we catch the likeness in 
a moment — it is the image of a serpent ! " * 

It seems as if this uncompromising, unqualified 
exposure of bad character was sufficiently convincing 
to go no further ; but I must repeat what John Bur- 



Face of a Western Weasel 
(Putorius nigripes). 



* Fur-bearing Animals. 



140 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

roughs has said also. After telling of the manifold 
perils of a bird's life, he says : 

" One day last summer my attention was arrested 
by the angry notes of a pair of brown thrashers that 
were flitting from bush to bush along an old stone 
row in a remote field. Presently I saw what it was 
that excited them — three large, red weasels or ermines 
coming along the stone wall and leisurely and half 
playfully exploring every tree that stood near it. 
They had probably robbed the thrashers. They 
would go up the trees with greatest ease and glide 
serpentlike out upon the main branches. When they 
descended the tree they were unable to come straight 
down like a squirrel, but went around it spirally. 
How boldly they thrust their heads out of the wall 
and eyed and sniffed me as I drew near — their round, 
thin ears, their prominent, glistening, beadlike eyes, 
and the curving, snakelike motions of the head and 
neck being very noticeable. They looked like blood- 
suckers and egg-suckers. They suggested something 
extremely remorseless and cruel. One could under- 
stand the alarm of rats when they discover one of 
these fearless, subtle, and circumventing creatures 
threading their holes. To flee must be like trying to 
escape death itself." 

Very true, the rats are undoubtedly struck with 
mortal terror on the approach of this their deadliest 



FUR-CLAD FIGHTERS. 141 

enemy.* But the rat makes some show of fight not- 
withstanding the desperate odds against him, and 
sometimes lie "turns the tables." Now for my story. 
Not long ago, in a comfortable old farmhouse 
familiar to me from childhood, but one much the 
worse for the company of rats, a weasel appeared 
around the kitchen way, evidently seeking for some 
ingress to the partitions. At last he found the desired 
rat-hole, and entered. In less time than it takes to tell 
it, there was the dickens to pay inside the walls of the 
old house ; such desperate scrambling, rushing, squeak- 
ing, and shrieking were never heard there before! 
Truly speaking — 

" You heard as if an army muttered ; 
And the muttering" grew to a grumbling ; 
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling ; 
And out of the house the rats came tumbling. 1 ' 

There was grim death in the path of the destroyer for 

* " We once placed a half-domesticated ermine in an outhouse 
infested with rats, shutting up the holes on the outside to prevent 
their escape. The little animal soon commenced his work of de- 
struction ; the squeaking of the rats was heard throughout the 
day. In the evening it came out licking its mouth, and seemed 
like a hound after a long chase, much fatigued. A board of the 
floor was raised to enable us to ascertain the result of our experi- 
ment, and an immense number of rats were observed, which, al- 
though they had been killed in different parts of the building, 
had been dragged together, forming a compact heap. The ermine, 
then, is of immense benefit to the farmer. We are of the opinion 
that it has been over-hated and too indiscriminately persecuted." 
— Quadrupeds of North America, Audubon. 



142 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

a considerable space of time ; then, in a tumultuous 
scramble, he reappeared in the kitchen in a desperate 
encounter with several rodents, and surprising as it 
may seem, exhausted and torn by the violence of the 
conflict. The rats were too many for him ; he was 
worsted ; and in two minutes more he was " as dead 
as a doornail," with a significant and appropriate sur- 
rounding of disjecta membra. 

Dr. Merriam remarks that the weasel is ever vic- 
torious ; but here is an instance of something quite 
the contrary, and although one's sympathies are not 
often enlisted on the rat's side, one can not help feel- 
ing like complimenting the old rodents which on this 
occasion broke the record. 

The weasel, as a rule, does not eat the flesh of his 
victim when game is plenty ; instead, he devours the 
brains, sucks the blood, and, when finished, goes for 
the next and the next victim, until, after a most ter- 
rific slaughter, he stops through sheer exhaustion. 
Relying on his strong, muscular jaws he springs upon 
his game, and " brains " it with a single bite. Hunt- 
ing day and night, climbing trees with perfect ease, 
and entering the burrows of the rodents, he is a ter- 
ror to all animal creation. Even the dog does not 
get the best of him without a tough tussle, for he will 
grab his nose if he gets a chance and hold on with 
the grip of a vise. Fortunately, he does not very 



FUR-CLAD FIGHTERS. 143 

often enter the chicken house ; but when he does, it 
is good-by to the hens ! In the field, or among the 
grain stacks, like the little brown weasel he is the best 
friend of the farmer, for mice, rats, and rabbits are 
his favorite game. 

The range of this weasel is from southern Maine 
and Vermont South to Xorth Carolina, and West to 
Indiana and Illinois. 

In late summer, autumn, and winter the weasel's 
coat is remarkably beautiful. The change from dark 
brown in summer to white in winter is perhaps the 
most remarkable thing about the little animal. There 
is an irregular line of demarcation between the upper 
brown and the lower buff- white color in summer; 
this line begins at the mouth, and continues low down 
on the sides to the tail ; all around the latter and 
over the paws is the same color as the back, but the 
tip of the tail is black. 

According to Elliott Coues, the latitudes in which 
the change occurs in this country include the north- 
ern tier of States and the entire region northward. 
In this area, he says, the change is regular, complete, 
and universal ; but, Audubon says, " in specimens 
received from Virginia the colors of the back had 
undergone no change in January." 

Regarding the cause of the color change, about 
which there is much conflicting opinion, to those who, 



144 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



like myself, have observed the animal only in the 
North, it would seem as though Dr. Merriam's theory, 
recently expressed, is the one which 




correct, 
My experi- 
ence inclines 
me to believe that 
the change from 
brown to white occurs 
altogether too suddenly, 
stances, to admit of any 



In his winter coat. 



m many in- 
other ex- 



planation than that which Dr. Merriam gives, quoted 
below. 

Elliott Coues says : " As Mr. Bell contends, tem- 
perature * is the immediate controlling agent. This 
is amply proved in the fact that the northern animals 
always change ; that in those from intermediate lati- 
tudes the change is incomplete, while those from far- 

* We may safely conclude that if the requisite temperature is 
experienced at the periods of renewal of the coat, the new hairs 
will come out of the opposite color ; if not, they will appear of 
the same color and change afterward ; that is, the change may or 
may not be coincident with shedding. That it is ordinarily not 
so coincident seems shown by the greater number of specimens in 
which we observe white hairs brown tipped. — Fur-Bearing Ani- 
mals, page 128, E. Coues. 



FUR-CLAD FIGHTERS. 145 

ther south do not change at all. . . . The design or 
final cause of this remarkable alteration is evident in 
the screening of the animal from observation by as- 
similation of its color to that of its surroundings. It 
is shielded not only from its enemies, but from its 
prey as well." 

Now I quote in substance what Dr. Merriam says 
to the contrary : " Temperature," he states, " time of 
change, and fact of change have little to do with the 
case. In the Adirondacks the ermine never turns 
white until after the first snow. In late October or 
early November, forty-eight hours after a snowstorm, 
regardless of temperature, the coat has assumed a pied 
appearance, often systematically marked and striking- 
ly handsome ; the change continues with great rapid- 
ity. By early spring the process is reversed; the 
change will even occur in a warm room indoors, al- 
though the transition is tardy ; but it is really occa- 
sioned by the inevitable influence of hereditary 
habit." 

In northern New Hampshire, among the great 

hills, the temperature frequently falls to 20°, and even 

12°, between September 20th and November 10th. 

Yet, until the snow comes, the weasel remains brown. 

There is no lack of continued cold, either, between 

these dates, for almost every night in the latter part 

of October the mercury drops to the freezing point, 
11 



146 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOEEST. 

and frequently far below it. The larger weasel is by 
no means rare in this part of the country,' and there 
is sufficient opportunity for a trapper to study his 
change of coat in early winter. The nest of the little 
animal will be found snugly tucked away in the hol- 
low of some old stump, or in the sheltered nook be- 
tween an old moss-covered log and a shelving rock. 
In early May the female bears from four to six 
young, which, it is said, remain in the vicinity of the 
nest all summer. 

The white fur of the ermine seems to have gone 
out of fashion so completely that I can find no quota- 
tion of its value in the American list. 



CHAPTEE IX. 

TWO FAMOUS SWIMMERS. 
The Mink and Otter. 

The mink (Putorius viso?*) is the next relation 
of the weasel. Larger and heavier in figure, in some 
respects he resembles the marten ; like this animal, he 
has a large bushy tail, but, unlike him, the ears are 
small and low, scarcely extending beyond the fur in the 
vicinity ; they are rounded, and well furred on both 
sides. The feet are somewhat pointed and small, and 
the legs are short. Over the snow the tracks of the 
mink are mingled in one regular and rather deep fur- 
row, quite different in this respect from the rhyth- 
mical tracks of the marten. On the sandy river beach 
the tracks are also a trifle mixed, and are easily recog- 
nized on this account. 

The mink is a handsome animal, with a beautiful, 
long, very dark-brown or blackish fur, and black, 
bushy tail ; beneath, his body is irregularly patched 

with white. He is tolerably abundant in the Adiron- 

1/ 

dack woods ; occasionally he is found on the borders 

147 



148 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

of the woodland lakes of northern New Hampshire, 
and rarely he is met with in the wilder parts of 
Massachusetts. 

The prey of this thoroughly aquatic mammal, 
which, somewhat web-footed, swims and dives like a 
fish, consists of mice, rats, muskrats, birds, eggs, fish, 




The Mink. 

frogs, crayfish, and fresh-water mussels. He is, like 
the weasel, the particular enemy of the rat, who, it 
is said, gives no battle, but yields at once ; the mink 
severs the main blood-vessels of the neck so skillfully 
that the deed is scarcely observable.* Occasionally 
the animal enters the henhouse or the poultry yard 
and makes away with a number of chickens and ducks ; 
but, unlike the weasel, he does not proceed to wan- 
ton murder. He takes one chicken at a time, and 
most likely devours it, flesh, bones, and all ; then, if 
he feels like it, he helps himself to another. When, 

* Fur-bearing Animals. Elliott Coues. 




THE MINK. 
PUTORIUS VISOR. 

" He even captures the Speckled beauty 
of the mountain stream," 



TWO FAMOUS SWIMMERS. 149 

however, food is plenty he is a bit wasteful. One 
winter a mink tunneled a passage under the snow to 
the troughs of the State Fish Hatchery, at Livermore 
Falls, N. H., where he captured and destroyed num- 
berless trout, the remains of which were discovered, 
when the snow disappeared in the spring, in and about 
his nest. He is decidedly nocturnal in his habits, and 
consequently is not as often caught in his depreda- 
tions on the poultry inclosure as the fox or the weasel ; 
but he generally frequents the margins of rivers and 
lakes both night and day. The only one I ever saw 
in the wild state was busily occupied in the middle of 
a summer morning devouring either a mouse or a frog 
on the sandy border of a mountain lake. Dr. Mer- 
riam says he once saw three on the banks of the out- 
let of Seventh Lake (Adirondacks), and many times 
has met them in summer and winter about the water 
courses of northern New York. The little animal 
often prowls about the lakes of the Adirondack wil- 
derness, he further says, and devours the remains of 
fish left on the shore near the camps. As a swimmer 
the mink is not excelled by any other similar small 
animal. He can remain a long time under water, and 
pursues fish by following them under logs and shelter- 
ing rocks. He even captures the speckled beauty of 
the mountain stream, for Audubon relates that he saw 
a mink catch a trout upward of a foot long. Exceed- 



150 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

ingly strong for so small an animal, and sagacious to 
a surprising degree, it is on record that he has dragged 
a mallard duck more than a mile to reach his hole 
and share the game with his mate. The writer * says : 
"As we followed the line we could easily trace the 
wide trail of the mallard as it was dragged bodily 
along over the fresh snow, and the deep penetration 
of its claws into the new ice spoke volumes of the 
force exerted by the small animal in the completion 
of so severe an undertaking." 

When the mink is caught young, and tamed, he 
makes not only a good ratter but an interesting pet, 
although he resents any careless stepping on his feet 
or tail by using his sharp teeth with decisive effect. 
In his native wilds he is not a very timid animal, as 
may be inferred from the experience of Dr. Abbott.f 

* An anonymous writer in Forest and Stream. 

f " It was past noon, and rest was the order of the hour. What 
creatures I saw moved with great leisure, as if annoyed that they 
had to move at all. The mink crept along the prostrate log as 
though stiff in every joint, but when at the end of his short journey 
I whistled shrilly, with what animation he stood erect and stared 
in the direction of the sound ! Half concealed as I was, the mink 
saw nothing to arouse his suspicions ; he was merely curious or 
puzzled ; he was thinking. . . . He did not move a muscle, but 
stared at me. Then I commenced whistling in a low tone, and 
the animal became more excited ; he moved his head from side to 
side, as if in doubt, and needed but a slight demonstration on my 
part to convert this doubting into fear. I whistled more loudly, 
and moved my arms ; in an instant the mink disappeared." — Out- 
ings at Odd Times. C. G. Abbott. 



TWO FAMOUS SWIMMERS. 151 

Elliott Coues describes the animal in its wild state, 



however, as being anything but amiable : " One who 
has not taken a mink in a steel trap * can scarcely 
form an idea of the terrible expression the animal's 
face assumes as the captor approaches. It has always 
struck me as the most nearly diabolical of anything 
in animal physiognomy. A sullen stare from the 
crouched, motionless form gives way to a new look 
of surprise and fear, accompanied with the most vio- 
lent contortions of the body, with renewed champ- 
ing of the iron till breathless, with heaving flanks 
and open mouth dribbling saliva, the animal settles 
again, and watches with a look of concentrated 
hatred mingled with impotent rage and frightful 
despair. The countenance of the mink — its broad, 
low head, short ears, small eyes, piggish snout, and for- 
midable teeth — is always expressive of the lower and 
more brutal passions, all of which are intensified at 
such times. As may well be supposed, the creature 
must not be incautiously dealt with when in such a 
frame of mind." 

Unfortunately, too, the mink has a pair of anal 
glands which secrete a fluid of disgustingly fetid and 
offensive odor, which is pretty sure to be emitted 
when the animal is trapped. Dr. Merriam says of it : 

* When caught in a trap by the leg the mink is very apt to 
gnaw the member in a manner most painful to witness. 



152 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

" It is the most execrable smell with which my nos- 
trils have as yet been offended ; in some individuals 
it is only more powerful and offensive than it is in 
others." 

According to my experience, the close- set, bristly 
fur is never without some remnant of the bad smell 
in spite of all proper precautions in curing it. In wet, 
winter weather, and in contact with the natural mois- 
ture and heat of one's neck, the " minky " smell is in 
strong evidence. To me the odor of the creature is far 
more unpleasant than that of the skunk ; yet Elliott 
Coues does not seem to think it is distressingly bad. 
He says : " No animal of this country, except the skunk, 
possesses so powerful, penetrating, and lasting an 
effluvium. ... It belongs to the class of musky (!) 
odors, which in minute quantities are not disagree- 
able to most persons. 

Of course, de gustibus non disputandum, ; I can- 
didly admit that I can not quite agree with Elliott 
Coues either with regard to the musky quality or the 
mild offensiveness of the perfume. Perhaps I expe- 
rienced too much of it on a particular occasion long 
since. 

The nest of the mink is made of dried leaves piled 
together about the thickness of an inch or more, and 
rounded in a snug hollow lined with fur and feathers. 
It is generally found in either a hollow log or a iDur- 



TWO FAMOUS SWIMMERS. 153 

row. There are from four to six young produced 
in the latter part of April or early in May. But one 
litter is raised in a year. By nature the mink is not 
a good burrower, and often the female avails herself 
of the hole of a muskrat in which to build her nest. 

Thirty years ago the fur began to increase steadily 
in value until the price of a single pelt reached five, 
and even ten, dollars. Dr. Merriam says he caught 
one whose skin sold for fourteen dollars ; but to-day 
the highest price quoted for the dark Nova Scotia 
and Labrador skins is two dollars ; those from New 
York and New England bring about a dollar and 
a half ; and of the more southern and western furs, 
those from northern New Jersey to Wisconsin bring 
from a dollar and a quarter to thirty cents ; and those 
from Ohio to Florida and Texas, from a dollar and 
twenty cents to twenty cents, according to color — the 
darkest fur bringing the most money. 

Now the mink is the last member of the sub- 
family Mustelince, which is an important and large 
division of the general family Mustelidce. The next 
subfamily is that of the skunks, Mephitince, only one 
member of which, the common skunk (Mephitis me- 
phitica\ is found northeast of the Mississippi, and 
consequently concerns us. But the skunk is so com- 
mon and important an individual that, a little fur- 
ther on, I have devoted a whole chapter to his odor- 



154 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

iferous majesty, and thus have, taken him out of his 
proper position in the family just here. So for the 
present we will give the skunk a wide berth and pass 
on to his next relative ; this is the badger (Taxidea 
americana), of the next subfamily Melince-, another 
Western animal, whose eastern limit is Wisconsin and 
Iowa. It must not be inferred that this animal is 
one of the swimmers indicated in the heading of this 
chapter ; he only happens to be sandwiched between 
the two swimmers by reason of his relationship. He 
is a burrower. But this incorrigible burrower, whose 
hole on the Western plains has broken more than one 
horse's leg and given more than one rider's scalp to the 
Indians, this miserable, broad -backed beast of secret 
and unknown habits, is too distinctively Western to 
command our attention ; still, we will listen to a word 
about him from Elliott Coues, and then pass on. He 
says: "I have found badgers in countless numbers 
nearly throughout the region of the upper Missouri 
River and its tributaries. I do not see how they could 
well be more numerous anywhere. In some favorite 
stretches of sandy, sterile soil, their burrows are 
everywhere. ... In ordinary journeying one has to 
keep a constant lookout lest his horse suddenly goes 
down under him, with a fore leg deep in a badger hole ; 
and part of the training of a Western horse is to make 
him look out for and avoid these pitfalls." 



TWO FAMOUS SWIMMERS. 



155 



Leaving the badger, we next come to the sub- 
family Lutrinoz, which is represented by the single 
North American species of this genus, the otter. He 
is not very familiar through the well-settled parts of 
the eastern country, but is still to be found in the wild 
woods, on the borders of those charming lakes in the 
wildernesses of northern New York, New Hampshire, 
and Maine. 

The beautiful otter (Lutra canadensis) — which is 
a splendid swimmer and a great frequenter of moun- 

and lakes in the dense spruce 
lock forests of the North — 
is yet reported from Lake 
Umbagog, Maine, and 
the lake regions 
farther north- 
east, the 
lakes in 



tain streams 
and hem- 




The Otter. 



the Adirondack wilderness, the northern shore of 
Lake Superior, and Bayfield, Wisconsin. In the 



156 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

South he is common in the wilds of Tennessee, 
North Carolina, and West Yirginia. 

The otter is amphibious in the largest sense of the 
word ; he can remain under water as long as a loon, 
and can swim a quarter of a mile without reappearing 
at the surface. His prey generally consists of fish and 
crayfish, but he also has a taste for frogs, muskrats, 
wild duck, and poultry. He is an expert swimmer : 
he can overtake almost any fish, not excepting the 
trout, of which he is very fond, and in captivity he is 
partial to boiled beef. Dr. Merriam also says he is 
remarkably fond of crayfish (Camharus), incredible 
quantities of which he destroys during the summer. 

Otters are most restless creatures, traveling from 
lake to lake and river to river, and pursuing either a 
continuous or a devious course, u just as it happens." * 
They travel great distances in winter, and are with 
considerable difficulty overtaken by the hunter, so 
rapidly do they progress. They propel themselves 
over the slippery ice and snow with their hind legs, 
and, doubling the fore legs under, slide downhill and 
over snowy ridges in a most rapid and comical fash- 
ion. With the impetus gained by several rapid 
jumps on the ice they manage to cover the ground 
quicker than a swift runner on snowshoes. 

* Animals of the Adirondacks. Dr. Clinton Hart Merriam. 
Transactions of the Linnaean Society, vol. i. 




THE OTTER. 

LUTRA CANADENSIS OR LUTRA HUDSONICA. 

"The animal apparently enjoys a 
regular sort of toboggan slide." 



TWO FAMOUS SWIMMERS. 157 

This remarkable propensity for sliding is one of 
the strangest habits of the otter. That the animal 
should apparently enjoy a regular sort of toboggan 
slide is almost past one's comprehension. But such is 
undoubtedly the case. 

Audubon says : " The otters ascend the bank at a 
place suitable for their diversion, and sometimes where 
it is very steep, so that they are obliged to make quite 
an effort to gain the top. They slide down in rapid 
succession where there are many at a sliding place. 
On one occasion we were resting ourselves on the 
bank of Canoe Creek, a small stream near Henderson, 
which empties into the Ohio, when a pair of otters 
made their appearance, and, not observing our prox- 
imity, began to enjoy their sliding pastime. . . . We 
counted each one making twenty-two slides before we 
disturbed their sportive occupation." 

" The borders of lakes and streams in the Acliron- 
dacks," says Dr. Merriam, " show numerous examples 
of their slides, and also wallowing places in which 
they play and roll. May's Lake, a small and secluded 
body of water abounding in trout, is fairly surround- 
ed by them." * 

The otter is an intelligent animal, of an easy and 
playful disposition that easily fits it for domestication. 

* Vide Animals of the Adirondack^. 



158 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

Audubon tells of otters which he had seen so perfectly 
tamed and trained that they never failed to come like 
dogs when whistled for, crawling slowly and with ap- 
parent humility toward their master. He also recites 
his own experience in taming several otters, which 
eventually he had the pleasure of romping with in his 
study. They were captured when quite young, and 
became as gentle as puppies in two or three days; 
they preferred milk and boiled Indian meal to fish 
or meat, and would not touch these last until they 
were several months old. The animals are not only 
easily tamed and domesticated, but it is said that they 
are taught to catch and bring home fish to their 
masters ; they are taught to fetch and carry exactly 
as dogs are, and in the beginning a leather fish stuffed 
with wool is employed for the purpose ; they are 
afterward exercised with a dead fish, and chastised if 
they disobey or attempt to tear it ; finally 
they are sent into the water after a live 
one.* 

The peculiar formation of the nose 
pad, about an inch long in full-grown 
otters, is the admirable means whereby 
the animal is enabled to dive and swim under water 
without inconvenience to the breathing organs. I 

* Bell's Quadrupeds. 




The Otter's 
nose pad. 



TWO FAMOUS SWIMMERS. 159 

quote what Elliott Coues says of it : " In general 
shape it is an equilateral pentagon, with one side 
inferior, horizontal, and straight across, and the other 
side on either hand irregular, owing to the shape 
of the nasal apertures, the two remaining sides com- 
ing together obliquely above to a median acute angle 
high above a line drawn across the tops of the nos- 
trils. It somewhat resembles the ace of spades." In 
a word, this nose pad is a valve which closes over the 
nostrils and prevents the water 
from entering while the animal 
is diving or swimming. The 
otter in other respects is much 
like its congeners ; the body is 
long and columnar, about two 

£ . n .i j- p The Otter's webbed foot. 

ieet or more irom the tip of 
the nose to the root of the tail ; the head is globose, 
the muzzle very obtuse, the eyes and ears are very 
small, the broad feet well furred and webbed, and 
the tail about a foot long and slightly flattened — 
i. e., elliptical in transverse section. 

The nest of the otter is built under some shelving 
rock or uprooted tree, and sometimes in the hollow of 
an old stump. The young are brought forth about the 
middle of April, and there are usually two, or rarely 
three, in a litter. The mother and young generally 
remain together through the summer and autumn. 




160 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

The skin of the otter is usually taken from the 
body without being opened lengthwise, and is in a 
prime condition in November. The fur is seal brown, 
with beautiful lustrous long hairs, and thick, close 
under hairs of a rich but lighter hue. It is the most 
valuable fur of the Mustelidce family, excepting that 
of the sea otter, which in its prime condition brings 
from four to five hundred dollars for one skin. The 
otter's skin is worth from three to ten dollars, ac- 
cording to color, the darkest fur bringing the most 
money. The best skins come from Canada, New 
England, Lake Superior, and the Northwest. Open 
skins have a decreased value of twenty per cent on 
the prices quoted. 



CIIAPTEE X. 

THAT FAMOUS ESSENCE PEDDLER, 
The Skunk. 

When the twilight wanes, and trees, bushes, and 
fences become vaguely outlined in the gathering 
dusk, a strange little animal, somewhat resembling 
a black-and-white cat, ventures from his daytime 
hiding place, and we are aware of his presence 
in our immediate vicinity by a pungent and offensive 
odor. So, with bated breath and the suggestive whis- 
per of " Skunk!" we quicken our footsteps and warily 
peer into the shadows on either hand ; but alas for 
the luckless one who stumbles upon the little creature 
in the hasty effort to evade it ! Nothing short of a 
Turkish bath and a complete change of clothing will 
ever enable him to regain his self-respect. He is an 
outcast from society, and, like the leper of old, must 
consider himself exiled from all the world. 

The skunk {Mephitis mephitica)* another mem- 

* The Latin name means a foul-smelling foul smeller. 
12 1G1 



162 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

ber of the Musteliclce family, belonging to the group 
Mephitince, is one of those few wild animals with 
which no one is anxious to make even a " scraping 
acquaintance." " Distance," I cautiously remarked 



The Skunk. 



one time to a skunk which appeared directly in my 
path, " lends enchantment to the view ; you may 
have the right of way, and the path, too ! " So I 
gave him a wide berth, beat an ignominious retreat, 
and breathed again when the atmosphere regained its 
purity. One always feels secure at ten yards, but 
within that distance, notwithstanding the fact that 
competent authorities set the line of safety at sixteen 
and a half feet, one is excusably nervous. 

But, putting all prejudice aside, the skunk is not 
only a much-abused animal, but one whose usefulness 
can not be overestimated. Let us see what he feeds 



THAT FAMOUS ESSENCE PEDDLER. 163 

upon : mice, salamanders, grasshoppers, beetles, larvae, 
grubs, and caterpillars." This is not a bad list, and, 
taking into consideration the fact that he makes away 
with a vast number of mice and grasshoppers, besides 
those insects which are peculiarly destructive to the 
hopvine, it is not surprising that the Legislature of 
the State of Xew York seriously considered a bill 
many years ago for his protection. Truth to tell, he 
eats more insects than any other mammal, f if we are 
to believe the testimony of at least three eminent 
naturalists, and it follows that he must be of great 
service to the farmer. 

Some years ago I came to the conclusion, based 
upon a few observations, that the skunk was not only 
an interesting and useful animal, but a very beautiful 
one, so far as his coat was concerned, and that so- 
ciety in general, particularly drawing-room society, 
was not paying him the attention he deserved. To 
be sure, the skunk may not be an appropriate topic 
for the drawing-room, nevertheless his name is often' 
whispered there, for the reason that his domain is 
now undoubtedly encroached upon by the outposts of 
refined civilization. The refuse tub of more than one 



* I admit that he unfortunately robs the henroost at times. 

f The excrement of the skunk consists almost wholly of the in- 
digestible parts of insects, such as the black shells of beetles, legs 
of grasshoppers, etc. ; it is remarkably black. 



164 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

modern stately colonial residence lias been visited by 
him, and the evidence of his presence has wafted in 
the open window of the parlor during a warm sum- 
mer evening and changed the countenance of many 
a stickler for propriety. Now, if the hostess should 
remonstrate w T ith the intrusive skunk, and the latter 
could speak, he would undoubtedly reply with some 
assurance, " If you do not like my neighborhood and 
kind of perfumery you should not have located on 
my territory ; your drawing-room, like a weed, is a 
thing out of place ! " The greater part of the coun- 
try has always been the skunk's, and the site of one 
of our great cities (Chicago) * was once his favorite 
stamping ground. But, as I shall attempt to prove, he 
deserves more attention and less evasion ; perhaps if 
we knew more about him his character would grow 
in our estimation, and we might cease to consider him 
the " most disgusting thing in all creation." Interest 
in so remarkable an animal, therefore, induced me to 
search through his record and find some naturalist 
who would know all about him. It must be confessed 
that there is some difficulty in picking up knowledge 
about an animal which one does not dare to approach 
nearer than ten yards. To bridge over that ten yards 
by another's experience, instead of pursuing investi- 

* The Indian name Chicago means the place of the skunk. 



THAT FAMOUS ESSENCE PEDDLER. 165 

gations at close range, would promise at least to be a 
method of procedure involving no expense in the 
matter of clothing. At last I found a man who had 
at different times no less than ten pet skunks — one 
for each of my ten yards. " Bravo ! " I said ; " Dr. 
Clinton Hart Merriam has built the bridge. Any 
man who has had the pluck to tame ten skunks 
undoubtedly knows the animal better than all the 
rest of the wise heads put together." And so it 
proved. 

But before we look at the skunk through the eyes 
of the scientist, we will steal a glance at him in broad 
daylight — a somewhat difficult thing. to do, as he is 
nocturnal in his habits, sleeps all day, and is rarely 
seen before the sun goes clown. He is about as large ' 
as a small cat (I must not be taken too literally, for 
skunks greatly vary in size). The head is small, the 
snout pointed — something like that of the European 
badger — and the long-clawed fore legs, which he uses 
to dig with, are disproportionately short. In figure he 
is not a bit graceful, and his walk or hop is decidedly 
awkward. His coat is black, long-haired, and with 
little or no white markings in some cases, while in 
others it is traced over the back with two distinct 
tvhite stripes, which gradually merge into one at 
the neck. The crown is usually white, and the fore- 
head marked with a narrow white stripe. His tail is 



166 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

large, bushy, long-haired, black, and terminates in a 
buff- white tuft. 

He is the most deliberate little beast that ever 
prowled along the highway. A moonlit night is 
apparently his delight, and if we meet 
him then he is more easily recognized 
by his measured tread and cat-like fig- 
ure than by his color. 
Even when frightened 
he does • not break into 
much more than a hob- 
bling gallop, and a horse 
at an easy trot would 
outstrip him.* Not 

infreoiientlv he is mn The Skunk, showing the white marks on 
^ *> the forehead and flank. 

down in crossing a 

road, and then — well, the country is perfumed within 
a circle a mile in circumference. As for the horse 
and wagon, they might as well be buried on the spot. 
The skunk is not only slow, but remarkably curi- 
ous. I observed one once, on a moonlit night, in- 
vestigate a box trap which I had made for squirrels ; 
he scanned it cautiously first on one side, then on the 
other, peeped inside, and sniffed along the edges in 
the same manner as a dog. At length, after appear- 

* One night last summer one followed beside my horse at a 
slow trot for some distance without making himself disagreeable. 




THAT FAMOUS ESSENCE PEDDLER. 167 

ing to meditate for a moment, he apparently came to 
the conclusion it was "no good," and marched off. 
Later on in the season, his visits to the cottage prov- 
ing too numerous to be interesting, he was caught in 
a steel trap and shot — an ill-advised way, 
as I shall hereafter show, of disposing of 
him. Dr. Mer- 
riam, in his ad- 
mirable mono- 
graph on the 
skunk,* tells of one 
which peeped in the 
door of his museum, climbed 
up on the sill, scrutinized Trapped, 

him with the keenest of black 

eyes, and then began to stamp and scold saucily, 
finally backing out and into a beech tree near by, 
which so surprised him that he whirled about tail 
up, growled excitedly, and scampered off among the 
bushes. 

The skunk makes frequent visits to the farmhouse, 
around by the kitchen way, but usually at seasons 
when insects, particularly grasshoppers and beetles, 
are scarce. I never knew him to attack a rat, but I 
have seen frequent evidences of his destruction of field 

* Vide Transactions of the Linnaean Society, vol. i. 




168 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

mice and their nests. These he digs out with his long 
claws, and whole families go to make up his evening 
meal. He prowls around the wood pile, evidently 
after mice, and Dr. Abbott* relates an incident 
humorous enough to bear repetition here. 

u The old wood pile was not infrequently the hid- 
ing place of one or more of these ' varmints,' which 
raided the henroost, kept the old dog in a fever of 
excitement, and baffled the trapping skill of the oldest 
4 hands' upon the farm. . . . With what glee do I re- 
call an autumn evening years ago, w T hen the unusually 
furious barking of the old mastiff brought the whole 
family to the door. In the dim twilight the dog could 
be seen dashing at and retreating from the wood pile, 
and at once the meaning of the hubbub was appar- 
ent : some creature had taken refuge there. A lan- 
tern was brought, and, as every man wished to be the 
hero of the hour, my aunt held the light. The wood 
pile was surrounded, every stick was quickly over- 
turned, and finally a skunk was dislodged. Confused, 
or attracted by the light, . . . the ' varmint ' made 
straightway for the ample skirts of the old lady, fol- 
lowed by the dog, and, in a second, skunk, dog, lady, 
and lantern were one indistinguishable mass ! My 
aunt proved the heroine of the evening, nor did the 

* Outings at Odd Times. Dr. C. C. Abbott. 



THAT FAMOUS ESSENCE PEDDLER. 169 

men object. I often pause at the very spot, and 
fancy that ' the scent of the roses ' doth i hang round 
it still.' " 

The home of the skunk is usually in some corner 
of the pasture, or perhaps on the shrubby border of 
the road sloping toward the streamlet on the meadow. 
Frequently he accepts a new clearing as a convenient 
home, and digs a hole for his nest under an old stump. 
The hole is small, cleanly cut, and is generally 
without the slightest odor — but that depends. Prob- 
ably, if a large family — say, from six to nine mem- 
bers — remains in one domicile all winter, there is an 
appreciable odor in the vicinity. But it is a mistake 
to suppose the animal is not cleanly ; the adults are 
very careful in the employment of their weapon of 
defense, and they do not use it except when they are 
in a dilemma. This is my conclusion, based upon 
considerable observation ; and the fact that I have 
often met the strange little creature without having 
experienced any disastrous consequences, inclines me 
to believe that he is not aggressive. Give him a wide 
berth, and avoid a surprise or anything like a sudden 
movement, and he will not put himself on the defen- 
sive. Dr. Merriam is of the same opinion. He says 
that not one skunk in twenty will smell when caught 
in a steel trap, and that a person may drag both trap 
and skunk by the chain without danger if he proceeds 



170 FAMILIAR LIFE IN" FIELD AND FOREST. 

very slowly and without making a sudden move; 
" but," he adds, " a young one squirts upon insuffi- 
cient provocation " — a dubious fact which, to say the 
least, is disconcerting to the inexperienced, who can 
not be expected to " size up " a skunk in a jiffy and 
run if it should prove " ower young ! " 

The skunk is so common an animal all over the 
country that his unique method of defense is thereby 
proved to be quite as effective as any other means of 
protection common in animal life. I do not know of 
any animal that preys upon the skunk. Other crea- 
tures, however well provided with means of defense, 
find their match ; even the porcupine, in spite of his 
quills, falls a prey to his arch enemy, the fisher ; but 
all creation seems to " draw the line " at the skunk, 
and he lives a comparatively unmolested life. The 
miserable dog who has had an experience rolls him- 
self in the grass or dirt, resorts to the pond, looks 
quite crestfallen for the rest of the day, and shows 
by an evasive eye that he has lost every atom of his 
self-respect. 

Having perfect confidence in his means of defense, 
the skunk is perhaps the least timid of all the smaller 
animals except the weasels, whose audacity and calm 
assurance are simply unparalleled. But the skunk 
and weasel are not overconfident ; there is everything 
to justify one's self-confidence when the world flees 



THAT FAMOUS ESSENCE PEDDLER, 171 

before one's presence. If we meet a skunk, we run ; 
it is the hereditary habit of a skunk from the time 
he is born to feel sure we would run. Just so with 
the weasel : he is apparently born with the conscious- 
ness that the first rat he meets will shriek in terror 
and flee for his life. But the superior mind of man 
is more than the skunk can cope with ; consequently 
the poor unsuspecting creature falls not only into 
every trap that is set for him, but into every trap set 
for another animal ; and if there is anything exasper- 
ating about trapping, it is the discovery of a skunk in 
one's fox trap. Dr. Merriam relates how a number 
of these animals can be easily captured, somewhat 
thus : * "In winter the hunter treads down the snow 
from the entrance of the skunk's hole into a narrow 
path, and sets a number of steel traps at certain inter- 
vals along the route ; at nightfall, when the mother 
comes out the young ones follow her lead, single file, 
down the path ; the first trap near the hole catches 
number one ; the others climb over the obstruction 
and move on until a second trap snaps on another ; 
then the third trap catches still another, and so on 
until the whole family is taken in a single night." 

* My quotations are not taken verbatim, because a slight con- 
densation here and there became necessary to save the limited 
amount of space at my command ; but in each case I have rigidly 
adhered to every important point. 



172 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

This seems rather stupid of the skunk, but it is sim- 
ply the logical result of his dependence upon a special 
means of defense ; a trap is a machination of man 
with which he can not reckon, but with man himself 
he will reckon when he comes around for the trap. 
In this respect his method of warfare is not unlike 
that of the primitive Chinese, who threw among the 
enemy vessels called " stink pots " filled with noxious 
and suffocating fumes, which cleared the field quite as 
effectively as shot and shell. 

But now, for the scientific point of view regarding 
this interesting animal, we must turn to Dr. Merriam.* 
He had at different times ten live skunks in confine- 
ment, all quite young and consequently small — from 
four to ten inches long. From some of these he re- 
moved the scent pouches, but the greater number 
were left in a state of nature ; these, he says, never 
emitted any odor. A particularly clever skunk from 
whom he had removed the scent pouches proved to be 
a great pet, sleeping in his pocket while he was driv- 
ing about on his professional duties, and walking close 
at his heels when he took an occasional stroll after 
supper. If he walked too fast, the little creature 
would stop, scold, and stamp with his fore feet ; if he 
persisted in his rapid walk, he would turn about and 

* Vide Transactions of the Linnaean Society, vol. i. 




^ o 






THAT FAMOUS ESSENCE PEDDLER, 173 

make off in the opposite direction ; but if he stopped 
and called him, he would return at an ambling pace 
and soon catch up. Frequently the doctor walked to 
a certain meadow where grasshoppers were plenty, 
and there the little fellow would revel in his favorite 
food. When the grasshoppers jumped he would jump 
after them, and frequently he would have as many as 
three in his mouth and two under his fore paws at a 
time ; in fact, he would often eat so many that his 
distended stomach would drag on the ground. When 
young, the courageous little creature would often 
tackle a horned beetle, and he got many a nip in 
consequence. When he caught a mouse he would 
devour it all, and growl and stamp his feet if any one 
came near while he was thus engaged. He was a 
playful animal, and the doctor records a curious habit 
that he had of clawing at his trousers for fun, and 
then scampering off with the hope of a chase. 

Regarding the skunk's most dreaded perfume, the 
doctor gives us the following concise account : " His 
chief weapon of defense lies in the secretion of a pair 
of anal glands that lie on either side of the rectum 
and are imbedded in a dense, gizzardlike mass of 
muscle, which serves to compress them so forcibly 
that the contained liquid may be ejected to the dis- 
tance of from thirteen to sixteen and a half feet. 
Each pouch is furnished with a single duct that leads 



174 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

into a prominent nipplelike papilla that is capable of 
being protruded from the anus, and by means of 
which the direction of the jet is governed. The secre- 
tion is a clear fluid, amber or gold-yellow in color, 
has an intensely acid reaction, and in the evening is 
slightly luminous. On standing in a bottle, a floccu- 
lent whitish precipitate separates and falls to the bot- 
tom. The fluid sometimes shows a greenish cast, and 
it always possesses an odor that is characteristic and 
in some respects unique. Its all-pervading, penetrat- 
ing, and lasting properties are too well known to re- 
quire more than a passing comment. A well-closed 
house in winter became permeated by the scent with- 
in five minutes' time after a skunk had been killed at 
a distance of nearly twenty rods. The more humid 
the air is and the higher the temperature, the farther 
the scent is discernible and the longer it lasts. Un- 
der favorable conditions it is certainly distinctly rec- 
ognizable at the distance of a mile. De Kay quotes a 
statement from the Medical Repository that a Dr. 
Wiley, of Block Island, distinctly perceived the smell 
of a skunk although the nearest land was twenty 
miles distant. 

" The marked difference in the intensity of the 
scent in different skunks is chiefly due to the age of 
the particular animal from which it emanates. It 
is quite overpowering when there has been no dis- 



THAT FAMOUS ESSEXCE PEDDLER. 175 

charge for some time and it seems to have become 
concentrated. When recently ejected the fumes are 
suffocatingly pungent, extremely irritating to the 
air passages, and, I have no doubt, are capable of 
producing oedema of the glottis, as are the fumes of 
strong ammonia ; and when inhaled without a large 
admixture of atmosphere, the victim loses conscious- 
ness, breathing becomes stertorous, the temperature 
falls, the pulse slackens, and if the inhalation is pro- 
longed the result doubtlessly proves fatal." * 

Dr. Merriam does not consider the perfume of 
the skunk one tenth as disagreeable and disgustingly 
nauseating as the secretions from the corresponding 
glands of many other members of the Mustelidce, 
particularly the weasel and mink. Nor do I. There 
is nothing putrid about the smell of the skunk ; it is 
undoubtedly pungent and suffocating at times, but it 
is never sickening. 

The skunk is a hibernating animal, but he does 
not sleep all winter long ; during the greater part of 

* There is a case on record where mischievous schoolboys 
forced one of their number to inhale from a two-ounce vial a 
large quantity of skunk perfume with somewhat serious conse- 
quences. The victim became unconscious, muscular relaxation 
followed, the temperature fell to 94°, the pulse to 65. and the ex- 
tremities grew cold. The patient was unconscious for an hour, 
but finally recovered after the administration of hot pediluvia 
and stimulants. — Vide Virginia Medical Monthly, vol. viii, Xo.5> 
August, 1SS1. 



176 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

January and February he keeps in his hole, especially 
if the weather is severe ; but upon the first appear- 
ance of a genuine thaw in March, just about maple- 
sugar time, he is abroad again. Dr. Merriam states 
that he has seen skunks scampering over the snow in 
midwinter when the mercury stood at 20°. He also 
says that they have large families — from six to ten 
young — all the members of which remain in the same 
hole until spring, but that not more than two adult 
skunks have ever been found in a hole at any one 
time. 

It is not generally known, perhaps, that the fur of 
the skunk is quite long, thick, glossy black, and there- 
fore valuable. The wholesale price of the finest skins, 
which come from New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio, 
is from eighty-five to ninety cents each ; the poorest, 
or fourth-grade skins, are worth only ten cents. The 
fur eventually " made up " goes by any other name 
than skunk — generally Alaska sable and black marten. 

Of course thousands of the little animals are killed 
each year for the sake of their skins, and it is a fact, 
as Dr. Merriam explains, that no one knows how to 
kill them. His method is so simple and sure that I 
think it should be given a place here. " The skunk's 
back," he says, " must be broken by a smart blow from a 
heavy stick," and he adds : " If the animal is in a trap, 
approach cautiously and slowly ; if you go too fast he 



THAT FAMOUS ESSENCE PEDDLER. 177 

will elevate his tail, present his rear, and assume an 
uncomfortably suspicious attitude. Give him a little 
time, and he will about face and peer at you again 
with his little, keen, black eyes. Now advance a little 
nearer, be sure of your aim, and when you strike, 
strike hard. The main thing is to keep cool and not 
strike too soon. On receiving the blow his hinder 
parts settle helplessly upon the ground, and the tail, 
which was carried high over the back, now straightens 
out behind, limp and powerless. As a rule, the head 
soon droops and the skunk expires." 

A heavy blow on the back given by a pole (not 
too long), the doctor further' explains, injures the 
spine and thus produces paralysis, or a complete loss 
of power in the muscles supplied by those nerves 
which radiate from the spinal column just below its 
point of injury. By shooting or decapitating the ani- 
mal the ensuing death struggle inevitably brings 
about a discharge of the scent. Audubon, however, 
testifies to the contrary ; nevertheless, my own expe- 
rience teaches me that Dr. Merriarn is right and Au- 
dubon is wrong. If there are those who wish to 
satisfy themselves on this point, let them practice on 
the skunk with a revolver, and escape the perfume if 
possible. Also, it is not true that the animal limits 
himself to one discharge ; he is quite equal to several, 

if there are sufficiently serious provocations. 
13 



178 FAMILIAR LIFE W FIELD AND FOREST. 

There seems to be a universal and absurd theory 
that the skunk scatters the scent with his tail ; this 
is an altogether mistaken and ridiculous notion scarce- 
ly worthy of passing comment, for it is evident that 
he elevates the tail not only from cleanly motives, 
but because it would seriously interfere with his aim. 

There is one more fallacious idea connected with 
the skunk, and that is that his bite is attended by a 
species of rabies — Rabies mephitica* as it has been 
called. This is all nonsense, and absurdly contrary 
to the " germ theory " of disease which meets univer- 
sal acceptance among physicians to-day. A skunk 
bitten by a dog or any animal afflicted with rabies 
might transmit that disease again by his bite ; but 
without such an occurrence the bite of the skunk will 
be a hite, and nothing more. It is true that his teeth 
are sharp and that they can inflict severe wounds, but 
nothing more unless he is diseased. 

Probably there are few of us who could imagine 
the flesh of the skunk furnishing a dainty and choice 
dish for one's dinner; but, according to Dr. Merriam, 
it is far more delicate than the tenderest chicken. I 
quote what he has to say on the subject with the same 



* This strange theory was not only exhaustively treated in an 
article in Forest and Stream (vide vol. xvi, No. 24, page 473) by 
the Rev. Mr. Hovey, but was seriously considered by Elliott Coues 
in a later writing; see his Fur-bearing Animals. 



THAT FAMOUS ESSENCE PEDDLER. 179 

confidence in his judgment and admiration for his 
bravery that I have already expressed. He says : " 1 
am able to speak on this point from ample personal 
experience, having eaten its flesh cooked in a variety 
of ways — boiled, broiled, roasted, fried, and fricasseed 
— and am prepared to assert that a more " toothsome 
bit'' than a broiled skunk is hard to get, and rarely 
finds its way to the table of the epicure." 

Hcec olim meminisse juvabit y but the next time 
we meet a skunk it will be just as well for us — now 
we have learned of his superior character but still 
lack that confidence which it ought to inspire — to def- 
erentially step aside at least sixteen and a half feet ! 



OHAPTEE XI. 

THE KING OF THE WILDERNESS. 
The Black Bear. 

The king of the wilderness, if the term has a rea- 
sonable application to any one of our wild animals, is 
undoubtedly the black bear ( Ursus americanus). He 




The Bear. 



is a humorous creature withal, from a certain restrict- 
ed point of view, and his dignity suffers in conse- 
quence. At the very mention of a bear we are in- 
clined to be amused and interested, and it depends 



180 



THE KING OF THE WILDERNESS. 



1S1 



upon circumstances whether we smile or feel our hair 
stand on end. Most likely the latter happens when, 
without a rifle, we accidentally meet him in the wilds 
of the evergreen forest; here he is every inch a 
king, but, alas ! an arrant coward — that is, under 
all ordinary conditions. 

In captivity his humorous nature comes to the 
front. Not long ago, when I visited a certain wild 
animal " show," every beast, except- 
ing those in the monkey 
cage, appeared to take life 
most seriously; but when I 
stood before two black bears 
all appearance of serious- 
ness came to an end. 
Here a jolly couple 
were thumping 

about their narrow 
quarters, apparent- 
ly trying to swal- 
low each other 
^ crosswise, and 
evidently enjoy- 
ing the sport 
with as much gusto as college students do the rush 
in a game of football. Later on they subsided to the 
milder amusement of swallowing huge slices of bread ; 




A jolly couple. 



182 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



but even this was done playfully, as though they 
didn't care a rap for such stuff. 

But even in his native wilds the black bear is ex- 
tremely interesting, and not without some irresistibly 
amusing traits of character, for if he should happen 
to visit the lumberman's camp while the latter is 
abroad, he will handle the jug of molasses he may 
find there with as much ease as a toper handles a jag 

of rum. Indeed, 
he is particular- 
ly partial to mo- 
lasses and pork, 
and his visits to 
camp are far 
from rare. 

The black 
bear is quite 
common in many 
of the wilder- 
nesses North 
and South from Maine to Mississippi. He is yet 
frequently found in the evergreen forests of the 
"White, Green, Adirondack, and Catskill Mountains. 
As recently as last summer, at a house not far from 
my cottage in the White Mountain region, I had the 
pleasure of feeding a young one in captivity w T ith 
a pocketful of ginger snaps, which he took very 




The Black Bear in the woods. 




CO 

< 

H 

D 
O 

W 



3 ° 

W H 

<<2 



THE KING OF THE WILDERNESS. 183 

respectfully and carefully in his mouth, never offer- 
ing to grab. Dr. Merriam states that in 1883 many 
bears dwelt in an evergreen forest in Lewis County, 
New York, twenty miles west of the border of the 
Adirondack wilderness ; in the autumn they were 
in the habit of crossing the intervening valley and 
entering the Adirondack region, passing quite near 
the town of Leyden, his home. Here, within six 
miles of his residence, nine bears were killed in 
October, 1877.* Bears frequent the woods in the 
vicinity of Mount Chocorua, in the White Mountains, 
and they still haunt those giant peaks of the Sandwich 
range which overlook the pleasant valley of the Bear- 
camp Water. 

During the winter of 1873 several bears were 
killed in the vicinity of the Twin Mountain House, 
White Mountains ; and I recollect a young one, tame 
and intelligent, a great pet with the guests of the 
hotel in the succeeding summer, whose special delight 
was a bit of maple sugar or a slice of cake. Most of 
the afternoon he circumambulated about the heavy 
stake to which he was chained, and occasionally took 
a sitz bath in the tub provided for his comfort. One 
of his favorite performances was to balance himself 
crosswise on the edge of the tub with three paws, 

* Vide Transactions of the Linnaean Society, vol. i. Animals 
of the Adirondack^. By Clinton Hart Merriam, M. D. 



184 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



and claw a stick out of the water with the remain- 
ing one. 

Of late years it is probable that extremely few 
bears have been found in the Catskill woods ; but I 
remember as a boy a great sportsman's resort on the 
eastern slope of the hills not far from Cairo, called 
Barney Butts's, where bearskins and tame bears years 
ago were almost as common as chipmunks are now. 

One unfortunate young 
bruin which I remember 
better than the others 
had lost a paw in a 
steel trap ; it was said 
that he had gnawed 
it off (a not uncom- 
mon thing for a 
trapped bear to do), 
escaped, and was recaptured after tracing his blood- 
stained tracks over the frozen snow. The limb 
eventually healed quite perfectly, and he managed 
by the following summer to do as well with three 
legs as most of his kind did with four. But I never 
could forget the picture which my imagination con- 
jured up of poor bruin hobbling in anguish over the 
icy snow, a wretched victim of man's inhumanity ; 
so he was regaled with cakes and lumps of sugar, the 
best way of showing him my boyish sympathy. The 




Caught in a trap. 



THE KINO OF THE WILDERNESS. 1S5 

last news I got of him in the fall was that he had 
knocked the spigot out of a barrel of molasses some- 
where in the neighborhood, and that particular part 
of the country was very sticky. 

Besides having a most extraordinarily sweet tooth, 
bruin is decidedly omnivorous ; his food is commonly 
mice, turtles, frogs, fish, ants and their eggs, bees and 
honey, wild cherries, blackberries, blueberries — in 
fact, berries of every kind — fruits, vegetables, roots, 
and not infrequently sheep, pigs, and poultry. If 
you try him with a kitchen diet his taste is quite as 
comprehensive ; it includes cake, bread, nmffins, pie 
and pudding, butter and eggs, ham, hominy, sweet- 
meats, crackers and milk, pork and beans, corncake, 
gingerbread — in fact, excepting pickles, I doubt 
whether he would refuse anything contained in the 
larder. In his native wilds he will tear old stumps 
to pieces to find ants and bees, dig out the nests of 
white-faced hornets and yellow-jackets, and, caring 
little for stings, devour the grubs with great relish ; 
scoop out the honeycomb from bees' nests, regardless 
of the army of furious insects ; tear down the branches 
of the beech for the sweet beechnut ; strip the black 
cherry of its prussic-acid-flavored fruit (which is his 
great delight), and clean out a blueberry patch of 
every berry, ripe or green, without greatly disturbing 
the foliage. Besides the huckleberry, the beautiful 




186 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

china-white snowberry, and the common wintergreen 
(Gauliheria procimibens), to all of which the bear is 
partial, there is another mountain berry actually 
named for him, the bearberry (Arctostaphylos Uva- 

Ursi\ of which he is said to be 
particularly fond. But he does 
not always confine himself to 
the wilderness in his search for 
sustenance : he is a great rover, 
especially in autumn, and not 
infrequently he comes down 
the mountain side and plun- 
ders the orchard of its fruit ; 
he will even enter the barnyard, and his presence 
there is the immediate signal for an uproarious com- 
motion among the animals. It is a great pity one 
can not persuade the horse that the bear is quite as 
much of a coward as himself. Indeed, two such cow- 
ards it would be difficult to find the like of through- 
out the animal kingdom. I have rarely heard of a 
black bear attacking any creature larger than a calf, 
and in the preseoce of a bear a horse loses his head, 
shies, jumps, trembles like an aspen, and bolts if he 
gets a chance. For that matter, the keen-scented horse 
will smell a bear through a two-inch pine board, and 
the intervening side of a barn is, of course, far from 
reassuring to him. Last summer an itinerant French- 



THE KING OF THE WILDERNESS. 187 

man, with a performing bear — a remarkably large 
and handsome one, of the cinnamon species— stopped 
before my mountain home one warm day and put the 
great hulking creature through a variety of perform- 
ances, to the infinite delight of the children. He was 
the best of bears, good-natured — if ever there was one 
that could be called so — and exceedingly mild-eyed ; 
he ate the cold muffins we gave him with a " that's- 
not-half-bad" expression, and hugged the pail of wa- 
ter as though it were a gift never to be parted with ; 
yet, after he had gone as peacefully as he had come, 
he innocently spread terror among the horses he 
passed along the highway just above, near the Profile 
House ; and not long after I heard that our friend 
the Frenchman was in durance vile as a disturber of 
the peace — of horses ! 

Xow, the black bear is as shrewd and cunning as 
he is cowardly. The hunter knows this, and has to 
take the greatest precautions to get to the leeward of 
him, and ultimately within rifle range. Bruin is re- 
markably keen -scented, and the first whiff he gets of 
"a man in the air" prompts him to take to his heels 
at so rapid a pace that the college athlete would be no 
match for him in a race through the forest. I wit- 
nessed for an instant a fair exhibition of his running 
power several years ago in Waterville, on the western 
slope of one of the great southern ridges of the White 



188 FAMILIAR LIFE IK FIELD AND FOREST. 




Mountains, named Sandwich Dome. It was the latter 
part of September, and I was one of a small party 
making the ascent of the mountain. We had come 
suddenly upon the verge of a ravine, and there, less 
than a hundred yards ahead of us, directly on the 

path, was the huge 
black form of bruin 



beating a precipi- 
tate retreat and 
never favoring us 
with so much as a 
' parting glance. There 
was a moment's rustling 
and swaying of leaves, a 
sharp crackling of twigs, 
then nothing — his sylvan majesty had fled, and the 
woods were as silent and deserted as if they had seen 
no live thing since the birds sang in June. There 
is a solemn silence in the forest, anyway, just before 
the leaves begin to fall, but after that bear disap- 
peared the stillness seemed dramatic, if not actually 
oppressive. 

Not many years ago a black bear was seen by a 
sportsman while he was fishing in the east branch of 
the Pemigewasset River in the White Mountain re- 
gion. The great creature was standing on his hind 
legs reaching for the ripe fruit of a black cherry ; he 



On the run through the snow. 



THE KING OF THE WILDERNESS. 189 

sniffed the air suspiciously after a few moments, and 
then made off in a direction opposite to that of the 
fisherman in the greatest haste. 

In February, 1878, three Adirondack hunters 
while on a panther hunt came across prints in the 
snow of a large female bear ; she was traced to her 
den, but was found already frozen in so she could 
not get out. After she was shot three cubs about 
three weeks old were taken from the den, but they 
were too young to raise, and soon died. In April 
of the same year another den was found in a swamp 
near Fourth Lake, Fulton Chain. The 
den, which was in the side of a knoll, 
was discovered by the proximity of 
the young cubs, who were playing 
outside and did not know enough 
to "go in" when the hunters ap- 
peared. The mother bear again 
could not get out, and was easily 
killed. In the following June a * 
very young bear was shot by Dr. 
Baw;, also in the vicinity of Fourth 

er ' J Cubs. 

Lake ; it weighed about ten pounds, 
and its stomach was filled with old beechnuts. The 
poor little creature had evidently lost its mother ; 
and Dr. Bagg, hearing a strange squealing like that 
of a pig, imitated the sound with such success that 




190 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

the lost cub came running toward him, but, alas ! to 
its death. 

In the summer of 1882 the signal station camp of 
the Adirondack Survey, in charge of Mr. Verplanck 
Colvin, was visited by a bear in the absence of the 
campers and turned topsy-turvy by the mischievous 
brute ; the tent was torn down, and blankets, books, 
and instruments were strewn about in great disorder. 
The footprints of bruin were found later, and Mr. 
Colvin, catching sight of him, fired at and wounded 
him, but did not succeed in effecting his capture. 
Dr. Merriam states that the average number of bears 
annually killed in the Adirondacks up to 1882 was 
thirty or more.* In the wildernesses of the White 
Mountains scarcely a season passes without ten or 
more being killed, and in the fastnesses of the great 
forests of Maine the shooting of a dozen bears in 
one season may be considered a mild amount of sport. 
In the Red Rock district of New Brunswick in 1879 
eighteen bears were killed, only two of which were 
fully grown. This part of the country is sparsely set- 
tled, and it is said that, through the depredations 
of bears during the year mentioned, the farmers lost 
more than seventy head of stock, which included even 
horned cattle. 

* Vide Transactions of the Linnaean Society. Animals of 
the Adirondacks. 




BLACK BEAR. 
URSUS AMERICANUS. 

"A large black bear was seen standing 
on the verge of a precipice." 



THE KING OF THE WILDERNESS. 191 

In the summer of 1881 the little propeller Ganou- 
skie, which traveled through Lake George at that 
time, while passing the mountain point known as An- 
thony's Nose, ran down a large bear which was swim- 
ming across the lake (nearly a mile wide at this part), 
and one of the passengers dispatched him with a 
blow from an axe. 

The bear, if he is in good condition, is an excel- 
lent swimmer, and a matter of a mile or so is no 
arduous undertaking. When he is fat his specific 
gravity is not much greater than that of water ; there- 
fore he can confine his efforts to propulsion. Several 
years later than the occurrence just related, while the 
steamer Horicon was passing the rocky ridge which 
borders the lake at the foot of Black Mountain (at 
that time burned bare by forest fires), a large black 
bear was seen by the passengers standing on the 
verge of a precipice ; he immediately disappeared on 
the nearer approach of the steamboat. 

The time when bears den up for the winter de- 
pends entirely upon the mildness or severity of the 
season ; the long winter nap, however, is not pro- 
found. Bruin is not overparticular about the char- 
acter of his retreat, provided it offers sufficient 
shelter from wind and weather. A big hole scooped 
out with his ponderous paws beneath some fallen 
tree, a rocky cave on a mountain knoll, or even a 



192 FAMILIAK LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

broad hollow stump — if it is big enough — is quite to 
his mind. When he is ready to "turn in," his fur is 
at its best, and it is then that the hunter prepares for 
his big game. When bruin reappears — probably dur- 
ing the first warm days of March — he is not the 
handsome beast that he was ; a long fast and an un- 
kempt coat make him look a bit the worse for wear, 
so he is unmolested if he keeps clear of the farmyard. 
Again, the time of his hibernation is almost entirely 
dependent upon the condition of the food supply. If 
food is scarce and the cold is severe, he retires about 
the first of December; but if beechnuts are plenty 
and the weather is mild he will prowl about all win- 
ter, and the female will den only before the period 
of bringing forth her young. So long as the male 
can find enough to eat he will not den, be the weather 
never so severe. In the Yellowstone Park, which is 
the largest game preserve in the world, the black 
and grizzly bears are so tame and plentiful that 
they have become quite a nuisance by their frequent 
visits during winter to the garbage dumps in the 
vicinity of the hotels on the reservation. Dr. Mer- 
riam states that it is perfectly evident bruin does 
not den to escape either cold or snow, but to bridge 
over that period when, if active, he would be unable 
to procure sufficient food. The females also remain 
out until the maternal instinct prompts them to seek 



THE KING OF THE WILDERNESS. 193 

shelter for their prospective offspring, and in the 
Adirondacks they have been found traveling as late 
as the middle of January. Their dens do not amount 
to much, and are often hastily scooped out beneath 
the upturned roots of a fallen tree or a pile of logs ; 
the nest is frequently made of bits of brush and dried 
leaves, without so much as a bit of moss to soften it. 
In severe weather, however, madam makes a much 
better bed, and frequently remains snowed under and 
walled up in it until April or May. The den is some- 
times revealed by a small opening in the snow which 
has been melted by the animal's breath. 

Mr. Frank J. Thomson has published an inter- 
esting account of baby bears born in the Zoological 
Garden at Cincinnati,* the substance of which I 
copy : " About the middle of January the female 
bear refused to come out of her den, and would not 
let her mate approach her ; she was at once supplied 
with hay, which she used to make her nest comfort- 
able and warm, and was then closed in. On Janu- 
ary 26th the young were born, but they were not 
seen until the third day after, as she would not allow, 
the keeper to enter the den ; then, by feeding her 
with bread held high above her head, she sat upon her 
haunches and thus exposed her babies to view. Ap- 



* Vide Forest and Stream for September 4, 1879, p. G05 f 
14 



194 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

parently they were not more than six inches long, 
dirty white in color, and quite hairless. After ten 
days their coats began to show, first grayish and then 
a variety of shades, which finally terminated in 
brownish black. In forty days their eyes were open ; 
thirty-one days later they followed their mother to the 
bars of the cage where she w^as fed ; but she did not 
approve of this, and led them back ; the second time 
they followed her she cuffed them back. After a 
few more days she allowed them to wander at will, if 
no one was immediately in front of the cage ; but if 
a visitor appeared they were promptly driven within 
the den and kept there until the intruder disappeared. 
As the young cubs grew older they climbed all over 
the cage and had regular sparring bouts, ending 
in a clinch and a rough-and-tumble fight, when the 
mother would interfere and knock both completely 
out of time." 

The black bear has commonly from two to three 
cubs, rarely four, and it is doubtful whether she has 
more than one litter in two years. It would seem 
very unlikely that the young cubs could fall a prey to 
the fox, panther, or fisher, but such is the case ; and 
Mr. Charles C. Ward cites an instance* where an 
Indian hunter, who knew of two litters of cubs which 

* Vide The Century Magazine for March, 1882, p. 719. 



THE KING OF THE WILDERNESS. 195 

he intended to capture as soon as they were old 
enough to be taken from their mother, was antici- 
pated in one instance by a fisher and in the other 
by a fox. Of course the marauders entered the 
dens when mother hear was not at home, but out 
on the search for food ; however, in the case of 
the fox, who was not sufficiently sagacious to time 
himself for his work, the bear arrived home sooner 
than was expected and tore the base intruder into 
shreds. 

It is a surprising fact, not without pathetic inter- 
est, that the bear rears her young in late winter when 
food is so scarce that one wonders where the poor 
mother finds sufficient to keep herself alive. 

Bruin suffers most at the hand of man, and is 
hunted to death in a greater variety of ways than 
I have space here to describe. AVhen he can not 
be persuaded to leave his den by any other means, 
and he is inaccessible, a fire of moss and pine boughs 
is started at the entrance and he is smoked out ; 
but he will frequently issue forth in great rage and 
trample the fire out. In a quaint old manuscript 
of Paul Dudley, dated 171S, there is an amusing de- 
scription of a bear hunt, which I will quote in part : 
" Dog scents them & Barks, then they come out. 
But if snow be deep they wont stir : they then put 
fire in Hole of a Tree then the Bear will come 



196 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 




Thundering out whether they are asleep or only 

mope for they easily wake." * 

On the whole, it is not to be 
regretted that the black bear is a 
good deal of a coward, for, on 
occasions when he is thoroughly 
aroused, there 

is usually some |g||^ 
terrific execu- 

Fore paw and hind paw tion ^^ h[& 

or the black bear, 

showing the pianti- sharp - C 1 a w e d 

grade character. 

fore paws and 
his formidable canine teeth. A 
casual glance at his thick shoul- 
ders, however, reveals the true 
point of his strength ; and his 
method of attack shows how 
completely he relies upon the big 
muscles of his forearm. He 
does not seize his prey with his 
teeth, but strikes a most terrible 
downward Mow with his fore paw, 
which tears flesh and bone asunder. The sharp 
claws are like steel hooks, and nothing can with- 
stand the power which lies behind them. For some 




11 ij% ./ 



Bruin's autograph. 



* Vide Forest and Stream for December 26, 1878. 



THE KING OF THE WILDERNESS. 19 7 

unexplained reason bruin exercises claws and teeth 
on the bark of trees as he passes through the forest, 
and thus leaves his autograph, which, sometimes to 
his misfortune, serves as a guide for the hunter. 
These tree marks have several times been noticed 
in the wilderness which surrounds Slide Mountain 
in the southern Catskiils. The bear rises on his 
hind legs, and, embracing the trunk with his fore 
legs, tears the bark with tooth and claw for sev- 
eral minutes, and then proceeds on his rambles. Mr. 
James Gordon, writing on Bear-Hunting in the 
South,"* records his guide's remarks on .these bear 
scratches (they are always made by the male) as 
follows : " Look close, and you will see the tallest 
marks are the freshest. A young b'ar, feeling very 
large all by himself, wrote his name thar fust. The 
way he does it, he places his back ag'in' the tree " (a 
position which does not seem to correspond with that 
described by Audubon f), " and, turning his head, 
bites the bark as high as he can reach, which means, 
in b'ar lingo, ' I'm boss of the woods : beware how 
you trespass on my domains.' The next b'ar that 
comes along takes the same position and tries to out- 
reach the first. iSTow this old fellow has written in 
bear hieroglyphics a foot higher, ' Mind your eye, 

* Vide The Century Magazine for October, 1881. 
f Vide Quadrupeds of North America, 



198 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

young un, you're a very small potato ; Pm the boss 
that claims pre emption rights to these pastures.' 
Another reason for thinking it is a he-b'ar is that the 
shes have young about the third week in January, 
and it's about that time. We hunt them in February 
by examining the cypress trees, where they have left 
their marks climbing to their dens." 

The black bear is a good climber, but he is too 
heavy to ascend into the tree tops. Often when 
hunted by dogs he takes to the tree, and then it is all 
up with him. A pack of dogs trained to hunt bears 
in the South is comprised of the most "or'nary- 
looking" curs, with pedigrees of confessedly vile 
mongrel strains. A few rough-haired terriers, active 
and plucky, to fight in front, some medium-sized 
dogs to fight on all sides, and a few large active curs 
to pinch bruin's hind quarters are all that are re- 
quired to make a well-trained pack, wliich will only 
seize hold in a body when one of its number is 
caught ; then it boldly charges to the rescue of the 
comrade, and, as soon as he is freed, it lets go and 
runs. Finally, gathering around the bear again, the 
dogs worry him until he climbs a tree. 

If bruin is captured when he is very young he 
becomes quite tame, provided he is carefully and sys- 
tematically trained ; but it is wisest to keep a sharp 
and vigilant eye on him, as he is not altogether trust- 



THE KING OF THE WILDERNESS. 199 

worthy as a pet.* Mr. Ward confesses that his own 
efforts to tame young bears have not always been re- 
warded with perfect success, and he mildly writes 
that it is an unpleasant experience to return home 
from a journey and find the house surrounded by 
neighbors armed with pitchforks and muskets, the 
family shut up in the dining-room, and the pet bear, 
in a ferocious temper, having things all his own way. 
" Nevertheless," adds Mr. Ward, " if one is willing 
to endure that sort of thing, a vast amount of amuse- 
ment can be got out of a tame bear." 

The black bear is remarkable for its magnificent 
fur, which, when properly dressed, possesses great 
softness and luster combined with dura- 
bility. At the close of autumn, 
when bruin has had plenty to 
eat, and he is sleek and fat 
with the rich mast gathered 
from the beech forest, he is 
jet-black excepting his muzzle, 
Bruin^ profile. which is fawn color at the nose 

deepening to tan color near the 
eyes ; over each eye there is a spot of tan brown. 
The profile of the black bear's face is characterized 
by a delicate convex line from nose to forehead ; the 

* Read Bret Hart's charming story of Baby Sylvester, in the 
St. Nicholas for July, 1874, vol. i. 




200 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOEEST. 

eyes are small, black, and intelligent, and the ears are 
somewhat rounded in outline ; on the whole, his face 
is not an unkind one, and it has a certain canine 
suggestion both gentle and reassuring ; but hunted 
down and in a desperate encounter with a hunter, 
bruin assumes an expression of countenance sinister 
in the extreme; Mr. W. W. Thomas describes a 
close and dangerous meeting with a wounded bear 
thus : * " I see the beast leaping on all fours, hind 
quarters high, fore shoulders low, head down and 
askew, snout turned to the right, lip curled up like a 
snarling dog, teeth chattering, and black eyes gleam- 
ing with a devilish light. On comes the monster 
with his vibrating, grunting growl, Knar-r-r-r-r ! As 
the gun swings up to my face I glance along the 
barrels, and see the snapping teeth of the leaping 
brute within four feet of my gun muzzle. I fire. 
The beast falls forward with a heavy thud at my 
feet ! " 

Bruin's voice is far from musical. After a queer 
sniff made by drawing in the breath there is a gut- 
tural growl, which sounds like a prolonged Gnar-r-r- 
r-r-r-r! far deeper-toned and more threatening than 
the warning growl of an angry mastiff. But in cap- 
tivity the black bear rarely exhibits any symptoms of 

* Vide A Week in a Dug-out, Harper's Magazine, vol. lxiii, 
1881, p. 830. 



THE KING OF THE WILDERNESS. 201 

a ferocious disposition, and his growls are few and 
far between. Not so when he is on the rampage in 
the forest during the rutting season ; at that time he 
scours the wilderness with a number of his fellows, 
indulging in continual snarling and fighting. The 
collision of two such creatures in a regular up-and- 
down fight is a sight which impels one to keep at a 
respectful distance. I recollect a certain bear fight 
in a "Zoo," one time, which demoralized the whole 
establishment for the space of several minutes ; dur- 
ing that time the earth trembled, and what with the 
blood-curdling growls and thumping blows of the 
hulking creatures, the rest of the animals concluded 
the end of all things was at hand, and their cries were 
proportionally energetic. 

The flesh of the bear is quite good in flavor if the 
animal happens to be in prime condition, otherwise it 
is rather tough. I can testify, however, to the un- 
qualified excellence of bear steak taken from a young 
and fat animal. 



CHAPTER XII. 

A MISCHIEVOUS NEIGHBOR. 
The Raccoon. 

A near relative of the bear, and, like him possess- 
ing a humorous side to his character, abundant in all 
parts of the country, and constantly getting into mis- 
chief in his nightly visits to the barnyard and corn- 
field, the raccoon is one of those interesting wild ani- 
mals whose appearance brings guns, traps, and dogs 
into immediate requisition ; and the poor beast, 
hunted for his life, usually ends with his skin tacked 
on the barn door and his dismembered body in the 
pot. Alas for the coon ! But he happens to fur- 
nish a very savory dish for the table, and he is re- 
puted to rob the henroost ; two excellent reasons for 
demanding his life — at least so argues the farmer. 

Now the raccoon {Procyon lotor *) is by no means 

* The name is significant : it is derived from irpoKvdv (procyon), 
one who snarls like a dog ; the specific lotor, Linnaeus added, be- 
cause the animal has a habit of dipping its food in water before 
eating. 

202 




THE RACCOON. 
PROCYON LOTOR. 

" He is abroad at all hours of the night, 
and often on cloudy days." 

Photographed from life by 
W. Lyman Underwood. 



A MISCHIEVOUS NEIGHBOR. 



203 



an enemy to farming interests ; what he may happen 
to steal in the way of corn and chickens is greatly 



overbalanced 
mice and in- 
stroys. 



by 



the number of 
sects which he de- 
His depredations 
are therefore insignifi- 
cant compared with 
the havoc he makes 
among the homes of 
creatures injurious to 
the farm. Beetles, mice, 
and even rats, he hunts with 
ceaseless activity during all hours 
of the night, and it is impossible to 
estimate the extent of his services in this 
direction. 

But he is omnivorous, like the bear ; he 

feeds on mice, rats, moles, turtles, toads, 

frogs, fish, insects, nuts, fruit,* corn, birds and their 

eggs, and sometimes poultry. He is abroad at all 

hours of the night, and often on cloudy days. 

There is no question about the abundance of life 

* Dr. Abbott tells of a coon he once saw in a tree whose month 
was apparently reeking with gore, but upon a closer view of the 
animal and his environment he found that he had been indulging 
his taste for wild grapes. The tree was draped with the vines, 
and the coon had liberally helped himself to the ripe fruit, which 
had stained his jaws red. 




The 
Raccoon 



204 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

in the woods and fields ; there are evidences of it in 
every direction when we are strolling through the 
country highways and byways. It only needs a 
watchful eye to discern the unmistakable traces of 
creatures, both great and small, at our feet, within 
reach of our hands, and over our heads. I do not 
allude now to the ubiquitous toad, the occasional 
snake, the familiar squirrel, and the still more famil- 
iar sparrow : these are always in evidence. But the 
woodchuck's hole is not far off, if we will look for it 
the salamander's tracks are traced in the sand around 
every other stone on the margin of the brook, the 
marks of the porcupine's teeth are on the corner of 
the woodshed, the tattooing of the sap sucker deco- 
rates the trunk of the apple tree, the w T easel's home is 
under the decaying log, the fox leaves feathers and 
bony relics at the threshold of his burrow, the raccoon 
leaves his footprints in the muddy margin of the 
pond, the turtle trails a curious pattern on the sandy 
shore of the river, and strange paws mark the black 
mud around the spring in the mountain forest. 

Not only are the homes and haunts of many fa- 
miliar creatures around about us, but also the evi- 
dences of many a tragedy. Here, just under the 
bushes beside the road, is a dead chipmunk ; a glance 
at the place where his head ought to be is sufficient 
to identify the murderer ; he was undoubtedly a 



A MISCHIEVOUS NEIGHBOR. 



205 




The Coon's paw. 



weasel. There are some spots of red on the clover 
beside a tin y hole in the meadow grass ; here was the 
home of a field mouse who was cap- 
tured last night, perhaps by a coon. 
There is the daintiest kind of a foot- 
print in the soft earth near by ; it is 
like a miniature hand pressed lightly 
on the ground ; whose is it ? Look 
at a coon's fore paw and the ques- 
tion is answered. 
In the coon we have another animal which, like the 
cat, loves to be out by 
the light of the moon. 
If we desire to meet 
this nocturnal prowl- 
er, we must prowl 
also up to a late hour 
at night. Of course it 
will be good luck if we 
catch a single glimpse 
of him after prowling 
about through out- 
rageously late hours 
during every night 
throughout the sum- 
mer ! Notwithstanding we see evidences of his pres- 
ence in the vicinity, he does not appear ; but set a 




The moonlight prowler. 




206 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

trap with a chicken leg or a bit of toasted codfish, 
and -there he is the next morning, poor frightened 
beast, with a sinister expression on 
his pretty face. There is nothing 
in all Nature so striking as the black 
setting of his eyes with the sur- 
rounding ring of white. There is 

Coon's face. ... -. , . . , 

an appealing look m the creature s 
face, despite his threatening aspect. Who is cold- 
blooded enough to kill bim ? 

Coon-hunting in the South, however, by moonlight, 
seems to be a regular institution. When the corn is 
ripe in September, " Marse Coon " steps into the field 
as the shades of evening have deepened and helps 
himself to a few choice ears, stripping them of their 
husks with his dainty fore paws quite as well as a 
pretty girl with deft fingers does at 
a corn-husking. He is very 
fond of the succulent, 
milky kernels, and very 
handy with his paws ; but, 
alas! he is so preoccupied 
with his feasting that the feX ^| 
wretched dogs are soon upon his 

n L Coon eating corn. 

scent, and close upon his heels 

before he has realized his danger. He runs for his 

life, but one of the dogs is at him, and in an instant 









" Out of harm's way, 
treed." 

Photographed from life by 
W. Lyman Underwood. 



A MISCHIEVOUS NEIGHBOR. 207 

there is a snarling scuffle, too vaguely outlined in the 
light of the moon to enable one to determine the 
issue ; but the dog evidently knows more about coons' 
teeth than to his liking, and Marse Coon escapes. 
Again other dogs catch up, and there is a big scrap 
this time just under a gum tree ; but by some quick 
work with his teeth the coon procures a stay of pro- 
ceedings, in the midst of which he makes a dart like 
lightning for the trunk of the tree and gains it with- 
out another encounter. Up he goes spirally, and soon 
is lodged in a crotch out of harm's way — " treed." 
There is instantly more bark — dogs' bark — around 
that tree than ever was known before in all its his- 
tory ! The coon was more than a match for the 
dogs. But along comes the hunter with his gun ; 
and who, however brave, is a match for the gun ? 

The coon is a fair climber, as a glance at his claws 
will amply testify ; but he is no match in tree-climb- 
ing for the members of the Miistelidce family — the 
martens and the weasels — nor for the red squirrel. 
Indeed, he is not arboreal, in the strict sense of the 
term, and I very much doubt whether he can be in- 
cluded among the enemies of the birds without posi- 
tive injustice to his character. He does not pursue 
his prey among the tree tops, and is rarely seen in a 
tree above some crotch in the lower branches. His 
home, it is true, may be well up in the hollow of a 



208 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

dead limb, but his hunting expeditions are mostly 
made on terra fir ma. 

Remarkably bright and winning in manners when 
tamed, the coon enjoys special privileges as a pet. 
He is frequently given the freedom of the house, as 
he never attempts to run away ; but the consequences 
of his freedom are sometimes disastrous to the house- 
keeper. He is the very soul of mischief, and his 
curiosity has no bounds ; nothing within reach is safe 
from his meddlesome fingers, and woe unto the 
kitchen pantry which he enters ! Like his cousin the 
black bear, he is especially fond of " sweets." Mo- 
lasses, sugar, preserves, and cake — everything, he 
samples them all with infinite satisfaction, and scat- 
ters the remains of his feast with a noble disregard 
for consequences. Sugar, milk, lard, butter, and 
broken eggs cover the shelves and mix together in 
such generous quantities that only the hot oven is 
needed to convert the mess into some nameless kind 
of cake ! It is not an agreeable sight for the house- 
keeper to enter the pantry and surprise the pet coon 
seated in the sugar barrel and oozing molasses at the 
tip of every hair. 

But I do not exaggerate : he is on record as having 
done all these things. It does not make much differ- 
ence where he is, his propensity for mischief finds a 
sufficient means for exercise. The last coon I made 



A MISCHIEVOUS NEIGHBOR. 209 

the acquaintance of was chained to keep him out of 
trouble. He was the pet of the proprietor of a to- 
bacco shop, and before he was chained he took it into 
his head, one Sunday, to sample the cigars. " My 
stars ! " said the salesmen who told me of the inci- 
dent, "yon just oughter 'nv seen this shop o 5 Monday 
niornin' ! Sech a sight ! Boxes o' Henry Clays upsot 
over the floor ; the best Havanas all chawed up and 
spit out — not one or two, but scores o' 'em : tobacky 
jars knocked down and smashed ; ' Dill's best ' all 
dragged outen de boxes, an' de best Carolina mixed 
sprinkled over the floor like sawdust ; and when I 
looked aroun', there sot that coon in the corner lickin' 
his chops kinder apologizin' like, and seemin' to say, 
4 1 had a d 1 of a time yesterday, young feller, try- 
in' to find somethin' fit to eat '. An' I reckon Pd a 
worse time that day clearhr up. Since then we kep 
'im chained. He's young, but he ain't no fool, and 
he's beggin' now for a lump o' sugar — here, you 
young rascal ! " — and he gave him one. TVhile my 
informant talked the coon dodged his head about, 
turned a few somersaults, clawed at the man's trou- 
pers, and by other unmistakable means showed that 
he would relish some kind of a tidbit not in the line 
of tobacco. 

I made several sketches of him on the spot, the 

results of which appear in these pages. Most of the 
15 



210 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



day he seemed to sleep, coiled up in a corner, but 
about four o'clock he roused himself and solicited a 
little attention. 

The coon's voice is not a musical one ; he has a 
sharp, snarling cry, not very loud, and a discordant, 
growling Gnar-r-r-r ! when he is angered ; but 
on the >/ n -zn^ whole he is a good-natured 

beast, who likes company 
whether he is in the 
ild state or do- 
mesticated. It is 
rarely the case 
that a coon 
chooses to 
\¥^ live in a 
particular 
part of 
the coun- 
try quite alone ; he goes in company on his foraging 
expeditions, and it is said that several members of a 
single family will live together in amity and make 
their excursions together, leaving the nest for several 
days at a time. 

The female bears from four to six young about 
the middle of April, and these stay with the mother 
throughout the year. They hibernate during the 
severe part of the winter, and reappear, according to 




Coon asleep in the willows. 




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A MISCHIEVOUS NEIGHBOR. 211 

the abatement of the cold, from February to March. 
Truth to tell, the coon does not fancy cooling his heels 
in the snow any more than comfort-loving puss ; and 
the retirement of the chimney corner, in his state of 
domesticity, is far more to his taste. But his heredi- 
tary habits are such that when he stirs himself into 
activity, about five in the afternoon, it is wise to keep 
the pantry door closed, or he will make a night of 
it. There are records of his having drawn corks 
from bottles, removed the covers from butter tubs, 
lifted latches, and even turned door knobs. 

So clever an animal ought not to be so easily 
trapped ; yet he is. I recollect two summers ago 
that my neighbor and right-hand man, the esteemed 
guardian of my mountain home, remarked one day 
that a coon had appeared the night before in his 
dooryard. " I'll have him to-morrow," he added ; 
and he did. The trap was set that night, and the 
unsuspicious coon made the fatal error of trusting too 
much in the harmlessness of things in general and 
man in particular. We both of us had coon stew for 
dinner shortly afterward, and the pelt of the poor 
trusting creature decorated the barn door, as might 
be expected. 

The flesh of a young coon is tender and delicately 
flavored, if it is properly cooked ; but, as in the case 
of any other animal, it is tough and unsavory if the 



212 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

creature is old. On the whole, between young rab- 
bit, coon, frog's legs, and chicken, each " done to a 
turn," give me the chicken last. It is a great mistake 
to cook any meat whatever from an animal freshly 
killed; an interval of three days at least, and the 
temperature of a refrigerator, are absolutely requisite 
to bring flesh to the proper point of tenderness. 

The fur of the coon is thick, long, and pepper- 
and-salt gray ; the tail is strikingly ringed with black, 
and the face is strongly marked. Occasionally there 
are individuals caught which are nearly all black; 
the pelts of these bring as much as two dollars each. 
Coons from New York, New England, Ohio, Iowa, 
Michigan, and the Northwest have the finest fur, and 
these skins bring from twenty to eighty cents, accord- 
ding to quality. Skins from the Southern States and 
south Indiana and Illinois bring from fifteen to sev- 
enty cents. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



THE FARMER'S SLY NEIGHBOR. 
The Red Fox. 

He is a much-abused creature, this red fox ( Vul- 
pes pennsylvanicus\ and the reputation he has un- 
fortunately acquired & through his incur- 
sions on the hen- /^?2K^f roost is not an en- 
viable one in the ^=^^S| animal world. 
But as a robber %^^ff|l and a thief his 
deeds are not a cir- J-' v ^'' v ^*\\uSL. cum stance 
compared with those of 
the weasel ; the latter ^^> 
seems to delight in pure 
murder, without rhyme or 
reason, but the fox takes 
what he needs and leaves 
all else — to be sure, not with- 
out an eye for the immediate 
future, as one may frequently 
find him returning for a second or third tempting 

hen, and the relics surrounding his hole show that his 

213 




A youthful 
Red Fox. 



214 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

disposition is not an improvident one. On the whole, 
however, an impartial examination into his account 
with the henroost shows a surprisingly small percent- 
age of loss to the latter through his subtractions. 
And again, I doubt very much whether the chickens 
which Reynard captures are taken from the poultry 
yard ; a thrifty farmer with a well-ordered henroost 
is not bothered much by foxes. Reynard lurks on 
the outskirts of the farm and picks up, night and 
day, those lawless rovers which a slovenly fence in- 
vites to the freedom of a boundless world beyond. 

No one but a farmer knows what a trial the roam- 
ing cow and hen are. If Reynard would only pluck 
up courage enough to worry the hind legs of wander- 
ing cattle and somehow or other head them for home, 
I am sure the farmer would gladly concede to him 
the itinerant hen. Without doubt the farm hand 
wastes more time hunting cows than listening to gos- 
sip in the country store. As for the roving and de- 
structive hen, the expense of chicken-yard wire-fenc- 
ing, and the depredations of half a dozen or more 
escaped fowls in the newly sowed garden beds — these 
are sufficiently exasperating to make one wish for a 
stray fox to administer condign punishment. 

We can spare a few chickens for Reynard's sake ; 
he will not take many, and he is so thoroughly inter- 
esting himself that he will amply repay us for the 



THE FARMER'S SLY NEIGHBOR. 



215 



loss of a few bothersome hens, if we will take the 
trouble to study his marvelously sagacious character. 
He has little to depend upon in the struggle for ex- 
istence beyond his wits ; he is thoroughly carnivorous, 
and must catch what he can without risking a fight 
with creatures more fully equipped with means of de- 
fense than himself. Consequently his prey is com- 
prised of only those animals which can make the least 
show of resistance. The skunk he will catch un- 
awares, if he can ; at most it 
will only be a conflict 
between sharp teeth, if 
Reynard can clinch 
with him before 
there is a chance 
for a bombardment. 
Then, among the ro- 
dents there are musk- 
rats, woodchucks, 
hares, squirrels, and mice. Birds, poultry, and eggs 
he is, of course, especially addicted to ; frogs, and 
even fish, he does not disdain, and I have known him 
to make away with the carcass of a horse in the winter 
season. It is even recorded by more than one au- 
thority that he is partial to wild grapes and strawber- 
ries ; but I have no knowledge of his vegetarian pro- 
clivity, and I doubt whether fruit of any description 




Fox asleep (showing the warmth and 
protection of the bushy tail). 



216 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

would tempt him so long as there was a bird or a 
mouse to be found. 

Our red fox is by no means the same animal as 
the English fox ( Vulpes vulpes). The latter lacks 
the soft color of the former, the fur is harsher and 
not nearly so fine, the head is broader, the muzzle 
less pointed and shorter, and there is less black on 
the legs. I do not suppose, however, that the two 
animals differ very greatly in character, as the Ameri- 
can fox is quite equal to his English cousin in an 
ability to hold his own on the very ground of his 
arch-enemy, man ; and in this country, where fox- 
hunting has not yet become common, the fox needs all 
his clever wits to evade the cruel traps of the relent- 
less trapper who means business and not sport. It is 
a fair fight, though, between the fox and the trapper ; 
but the fox-hunter's childish sport offers the fox no 
chance ; it is all rank injustice ; he must run to his 
death and make a holiday for idle men and a pack 
of dogs. 

In spite of his adversaries the sagacious fox still 
retains his place throughout the wilder parts of the 
country, and given some proper consideration he will 
continue to live without making serious inroads on 
the shiftless farmer's defenseless chicken roost. It is 
doubtful whether he ever gets a chance to rob a man 
of thrift. Our failure to recognize the common 



THE FARMER'S SLY NEIGHBOR. 



217 



rights of life among the animals often blinds us to 
the fact that wild creatures are really beneficent 

other, and 



servants m one way or an- 
man is generally the one 
It is quite natural 
the fox 




' With a bedraggled hen." 



benefited, 
to picture 
with a be- 
draggled hen 
in his mouth ; 
but, as a matter 
of fact, he de- 
stroys a score of 
such creatures as 
rats, woodchucks, 
rabbits, and moles, 
to every single hen. I know this by experience, for 
a casual examination of the vicinity of a fox's hole 
last summer revealed the truth beyond a doubt ; but 
to be quite candid, I must admit that another fox's 
retreat revealed more chicken's feathers than would 
guarantee my proportion of one to twenty. 

" But all sorts of things and weather 
Must be taken in together 
To make up a year 
And a sphere," 

and it happened that this particular fox took up his 
residence within a convenient distance of two shift- 
less-looking farms. 



218 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

Not only are we apt to lose sight of the beneficent 
phase of wild life, but we are quite as prone to for- 
get that it possesses any joy. "We think the fox 
struggles for existence. What does he know about 
struggling for food and shelter ? It is a joy to him 
to creep stealthily and noiselessly upon his victim, to 
gain his dinner by his wits, and to feel the satisfac- 
tion of an appeased hunger. A glimpse of a family 
of foxes reveals anything but the serious side of 
life. Nothing in the wide world is more attractive- 
ly bright than the face of a young fox, and three or 
four of the little creatures at play are even jollier and 
prettier than as many kittens. 

But when he is hunted by dogs the fox's struggle 
has begun in earnest, for it is a desperate and hopeless 
one. He leads the dog a chase over hill and dale to 
utter exhaustion, and at the end uses his needlelike 
teeth to no purpose ; after facing each other for a 
brief space with panting jaws, the dog makes a lunge 
at the fox, seizes him by the throat, perhaps gives 
him one shake, and all is over. 

When Reynard is trapped, a very moderate but 
sharp blow on the muzzle with a heavy stick finishes 
him with equal dispatch ; at best one can not help 
feeling a bit remorseful after the deed is done, be- 
cause it was so easily accomplished. But what a 
beauty he is ! The ears and the long hairs of the 




THE RED FOX. 
YULPES PENNSYLVANICUS. 

" A glimpse of a family of foxes." 



THE FARMER'S SLY NEIGHBOR. 219 

tail are tipped with black ; the fur is thick and 
warm ; the tone along the line of the back is a pale 
burnt sienna ; the tail is bushy and long, and the 
gradation of color from the back to the stomach 
through ruddy ocher to buff and cream is beautiful 
beyond expression. 

Reynard is not easily trapped, however ; his keen 
scent discovers the touch of a hand and the tracks of 
a foot at once, and he will not approach a trap. It 
is often the case that the fox's aversion to water is the 
means of his being entrapped by shrewd hunters. 
The method of setting the trap is this : The bait is 
placed conspicuously on a stone out in the shallow 
water just beyond reach of the fox ; halfway be- 
tween this and the shore the set trap is sunken, and 
over it is placed, slightly above water, a lump of turf ; 
the fox then, to avoid wetting his feet, steps on the 
insecure turf, the trap snaps, and he is caught. 

I do not know how common the red fox now is 
over the country from East to West, but forty odd 
years ago he was to be found almost anywhere. Dr. 
Abbott writes that in the vicinity of Trenton, X. J., 
the fox could be considered as extinct eight years ago, 
although at that time he appeared together with the 
wild-cat at long intervals. But in the Pemigewas- 
set and Merrimac valleys, Xew Hampshire, he is 
certainly very common indeed ; only last summer I 



220 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



found the retreats of four wily individuals who lived 

within a radius of three miles in the valley first 

named. One of them visited a neighboring farm one 

morning very early, before the family appeared, and 

was seen complacently sitting in the middle 

of the road not far from the pet white 

cat. Puss did not seem in the least 

disconcerted by the strange visitor 

although he sat not ten yards 

away ; undoubtedly he 

would have found his ^ 

match in the cat if 

he had dared to 

attack her. 

Reynard's proper 
environment is the 
hillside pasture that 
borders the wood ; 
here he is seen — if 
one is lucky enough 
to catch a glimpse 
of him — at the best 
advantage ; his bushy tail, his splendid coat, and his 
vigilant eye are not eclipsed by the leafy under- 
growth of the half -lit woods ; and, what is best of 
all, one has a good chance to see his nimble legs beat 
a hasty retreat. There is nothing doglike in his ap- 




V 



In the hillside pasture. 



THE FARMER'S SLY NEIGHBOR. 221 

pearance except it be his pointed ears ; but even these 
have a certain unmistakable foxy air about them, and 
in a flash, when Reynard is gone, one's first impres- 
sion that the strange creature was a dog is promptly 
dismissed. 1^0 dog ever had a tail like that, nor was 
there ever one so lithe and agile in his movements. 
Reynard appears and reappears in and out among the 
sweet fern with scarcely the rustle of a leaf or the 
waving of a 'fern frond ; that is his way. We could 
trace any clumsy dog's course by the agitation he cre- 
ated among the leaves ; but Reynard is accustomed 
to steal noiselessly after his prey ; the motion of a 
fern might cost him his dinner. 

In the morning and in the evening, in May and 
in October, in summer and even in midwinter, we 
can hear his short, sharp, nervous, rasping bark ; so 
strange is it that I scarcely know what to liken it to. 
Perhaps it resembles the stridulous, rasping sneeze 
of an old backwoodsman, or the harsh tones of a 
parrot, uttered fortissimo. For the sake of a clearer 
idea of the hind of a bark the fox makes, I may as 
well show how it can be rendered by musical notes : 
p^-=__r fr The setter dog has quite a dif- 



\ 



t 



i Li ] r o =: ferent tone and, like all do^s, 



he gives a series of short barks, 
each one of which may be fairly represented by a 
single note with an introductory grace note. The 



222 FAM1LIAE LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

fox's bark, however, is one short, suddenly loud 
squall, bearing not the remotest resemblance to the 
bark of a setter. The terrier's bark may be a great 
deal nearer in pitch, but it is quite as far off in qual- 
ity of tone. Indeed, between the dog and the fox 
there is, after all, very little similitude. 

Reynard's burrow is usually on 
the border of the wood, and per- jggjgj 
haps beside some old stump ; not 
infrequently he resorts to safer 
retreats beneath the broken rocks 
which have fallen from the steep ^| 
ledges of some mountain. He is a iflfl 
rather strong - smelling animal, and tjl 
his home is consequently not without 
a characteristic odor, all the more 
apparent in the dampness of 
a summer evening. The fe- 
male bears her young 
anywhere from the 
middle of March to ,<*$ 

the middle of April. Reynard's ta^^ 

She has from four 

to eight little ones, with the prettiest faces imagin- 
able. They make famous pets when captured early 
in life, but unfortunately turn out treacherous and 
sly in the end. 





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THE FARMERS SLY NEIGHBOR, 



223 



The largest and finest red fox skins come from 
Canada, Labrador, Michigan, and Minnesota ; these 
sell for a dollar and a half or a dollar and eighty-five 
cents, according to quality and size. 

The gray fox ( Urocyon cinereo-argenteus) is rare- 
ly if ever found in New England nowadays.* He 




The Gray Fox. 



is small, and it is said that he has been driven out by 
the larger red fox. But in the middle West he is still 
common from southern Michigan to western New 
York, and from northern Indiana to South Carolina 
and Tennessee. His coarse fur, which is stiff and 
long haired, is blackish mixed with silver-gray, behind 
and beneath the ears is a rusty tinge, and the upper 
part of the tail is very dark, characterized by long 
black hairs. The skin is worth about sixty-five cents. 

* According to Prof. J. A. Allen, his most Northern range is not 
much beyond the parallel of 42°. 




224 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

The so-called " silver " fox of the far West is valued 
for his remarkably beautiful skin, which brings no less 
than one hundred and twenty-five dollars if it is in its 

prime. The handsomest 
skins come from the ex- 
treme Northwest. But 
I must draw attention 
to the fact that there 
Ei^=- are but two species 

^Silver-gray Fox. of f OXeS Common in 

the country east of 
the Mississippi Valley : one is Vulpes pennsylvani- 
cus, and the other is TJrocyon cinereo-argenteus. The 
former species, usually called the common or red fox, 
is now considered the one species which must include 
the so-called " silver " fox ( Vulpes argentatus\ the 
so-called " cross " fox * ( Vulpes deeussatus\ and the 
so-called Western fox ( Vulpes macrurus). 

The generally accepted opinion that the color of a 
fox decides the species, is thrown to the winds by 

* The " cross " fox is more or less frequent as far south as 
northern New York and northern New England, and throughout 
the more elevated portions of the great Rocky Mountain plateau, 
where it constitutes a large proportion of the representatives of 
the so-called Vulpes macrurus. More rarely the black or so-called 
silver fox is met with in the same regions, becoming frequent in 
the higher parts of the Rocky Mountains and northward. — J. A. 
Allen. Bulletin of the United States Geographical Survey, vol. 
ii, No. 4, Washington. 



THE FARMER'S SLY NEIGHBOR. 225 

Prof. J. A. Allen, who is an unquestionably high au- 
thority in the definition of species. Here is what he 
has to say about the common fox : " In the common 
fox we meet with a range of color variation irrespec- 
tive of locality, somewhat akin to that seen in the 
wolf {Canis lupus). The prevalent tendency, how- 
ever, is toward melanism,* which tendency is much 
more strongly developed in the colder than in the 
warmer latitudes. Frequently individuals of the me- 
lanistic type occur in litters of the common variety. 
The varying degrees of melanism occurring in this 
species have given rise to several commercial vari- 
eties, which have received at the hands of naturalists 
systematic designation, and have been regarded more 
or less commonly as valid species. Generally these 
melanistic varieties are more fully furred and have 
larger and heavier tails than the common form. The 
difference in the fineness and softness of the fur is 
recognized to such an extent by furriers as to greatly 
affect the price of the skins ; the so-called € silver ' 
and ' cross ' furs being considered far more valuable 
than the fulvous type. 

" With this tendency to great variability in color, 
we meet, as usual in such cases, a great variation in 

* Melanism, or melanosis, from neXwwais, which means a be- 
coming black. 
16 



226 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

size. In the present case the variation in color may 
be properly regarded as geographical through an in- 
creasing tendency to melanism northward. The vari- 
ation in size is also chiefly of the same character, the 
size uniformly increasing toward the North. The 
largest specimens come from the Aleutian Islands 
and Alaska, and the smallest from Essex County, 
New York. 

" The foxes of the colder regions, it is true, have a 
fuller and softer pelage, a greater tendency to mela- 
nism, shorter muzzles, and are larger ; yet these differ- 
ences are so inconstant — especially the differences of 
color— and so insensibly intergrade that any attempt 
at their subspecific recognition seems impracticable, 
the most diverse varieties in color occurring at the 
same localities and even among individuals of the 
same litter." 

So it appears that the particular foxes called red, 
black, silver, and cross are all one species, with a com- 
mercial difference ; that is all. But that difference 
expressed in dollars and cents is quite considerable. 
I find that the dearest red fox skin is quoted at a 
dollar and eighty-five cents, and the cheapest at fifty 
cents ; the dearest " cross " skin at nine dollars, and 
the cheapest at seventy-five cents. The dark " silver " 
is quoted at from one hundred and twenty-five to ten 
dollars, and the pale at from fifty to five dollars. 



THE FARMER'S SLY NEIGHBOR. 227 

The " cross " fox is so named because a dark band 
between the shoulders is crossed by another extend- 
ing over the shoulders. The muzzle and under parts 
with the legs are black, and the remainder of the 
body is a tawny color. 



CHAPTER XIY. 



A FLEET-FOOTED NEIGHBOR IN THE WOODS. 
The Virginia Deer. 

To " run like a deer " means to run like the fleet- 
est-footed member of that highest division of animal 

life in the world called 
Mammalia. Now the 
term Mammalia is a 
significant one with a 
world of meaning in it 
which few, perhaps, fully 
appreciate.* It means that 
the closest possible relationship 
exists between the mother and 
her young. And perhaps one 
of the most beautiful examples 
of a mother and her young 
among the animals is the soft-eyed deer and her 
dainty, snow-spotted fawn. 




Head of a Deer about five 
years old. 



* The essential character of a creature belonging to the great 
group called Mammalia is that it is wholly dependent upon its 

228 



A FLEET-FOOTED NEIGHBOR IX THE WOODS. 229 



The Virginia deer (Cariacus virginianus) is not 
only the fleetest but the most sympathetically attract- 




great group. One who 

into the liquid eyes of a 

its mother, and after- 

a gun at one or the 

tent to destroy, fol- 



ive animal of this 
has once looked 
young fawn and 
ward has aimed 
other with in- 
lowing up the in- ;. 
tent with its accom- k ; :|S8 
plishment, burdens his ^ 
conscience with a sort 
of questionable guilt for 
the rest of his days. 
To slay such beautiful 
creatures seems some- 
thing not far short of 
murder ; but there is 
the venison to be considered, and as that is the meat 
of the epicure one's conscience must be smothered. 

It would seem as if I stretched a point to include 
this rare animal in my list of familiar life ; but I do 
not. Times have changed and the deer is not as rare 
as he was. Last summer there were many complaints 

mother for nourishment during the helpless period of its infancy. 
The Mammalia* in a word, are animals which suckle their young ; 
the term is derived from the Latin, mamma, meaning "the breast/' 
Thus, we undoubtedly have sufficient reason to believe the endear- 
ing name mamma had its origin with the Latin word. 




Virginia Deer 



230 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOKEST. 



coming from the farmers in Vermont and New 
Hampshire because the animal had made some havoc 
in their cornfields. I do not know how much of an 
excuse such complaints were to, secure a modification 
in the strict game laws of both 
States, but I 
suspect the 
average farm- 
er was anx- 
ious to get a 
better chance at a 
deer. At pres- 
ent the laws are 
so comprehen- 
sive and effect- 
ual that the deer 
has a chance at 
the farmer! a fact of such slight consequence that 
I think we have no sufficient reason to regret it. 
Thrice, last summer, three deer made their appearance 
within a quarter of a mile of my hillside studio, and 
once two young ones appeared close by the pasture 
fence on the border of the wood, not more than fifty 
feet from the piazza rails. Repeatedly deer had been 
seen on the highway in the spring, and once one was 
chased on the track by a passing train. 

In 1867 when, as a child, I was taken on a tour 




Two young Deer at El Fureidis. 



A FLEET-FOOTED NEIGHBOR IN THE WOODS. 231 

through the Adirondack woods, there was not much 
choice of meat either at Paul Smith's, Bartlett's, or 
the guide's camp ; it was pork or venison — which 
would we have ? I need not say which we always 
chose, and as a consequence the bill of fare was like 
a delightful " theme with variations," thus : Break- 
fast, venison — roast, broiled, or fried. Dinner, veni- 
son — fried, broiled, or roast. Supper, da capo. 
Twenty years after, when I went over exactly the 
same extended route, I looked in vain for a sports- 
man with his antlered game ; and at the table an elab- 
orate menu, with a picture of a deer at the top, was 
handed to me to choose my dinner from — alas for 
the wilderness ! it was no more. There was no such 
word as venison on the card.* 

But of late years the game laws are beginning to 
bear fruit, and the deer is again on the increase in 
New York, Yermont, and New Hampshire. On 
what does he subsist in the snowbound forests of the 
North ? How does he endure the cold ? These are 
questions not so difficult to answer. As soon as the 
fall comes his hair grows twice as thick as it was in 
midsummer, so thick, in fact, that it helps to float 

* Up to 1882 from five hundred to eight hundred deer were 
killed annually for the preceding ten years ; that would make a 
fair estimated total of six thousand five hundred slain in this 
decade ; no wonder venison was scarce in 1887 ! 



232 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

him in water ; by December it is like a door mat, but 
not quite so coarse. He sheds his coat gradually 
twice a year, in June and September^ and it changes 
in color from red-brown in summer 





Lycopodium obscurum. 



Lycopodium clavatum. 



to gray in winter. For food he has young twigs — 
those of the black birch he especially relishes — the 
foliage of the arbor vitse (Thuja occidentalis)* hem- 
lock, and fir ; digging through the snow with his 



* The margins of some of the Adirondack lakes are thickly 
overhung with the branches of the arbor vitae ; these are often 
stripped off for a distance of five feet up the trunks of the trees, 
the result of the feeding of deer which have wintered in the vi- 
cinity. 




YOUNG DEER. 

CARIACUS VIRGINIANUS, OR 

ODOCOILEUS VIRGINIANUS. 

"He works his way toward the 

shore of the lake." 

Photographed from nature by W. Lyman Underwood. 



A FLEET-FOOTED NEIGHBOR IN THE WOODS. 233 



hoofs he feeds upon the wintergreen (Gaultheria 
procumbens), the lycopodiums, and many other green 
tilings, like mosses and lichens. Early in the spring 
he gradually works his way toward the shores of the 
lakes, and finds there pickerel weed, lily pads, and 
spatter-dock ; as the season advances he approaches 
the outskirts of civilization and crops the 
new meadow grasses near the farms ; he 
even ventures as far as the pasture bars, 
not infrequently feeding in company with 





Lycopodium complanatum. Pickerel Weed. 

the cows ; but the latter are inclined to be suspicious 
of the strangers and sometimes move off to another 
part of the field. 



234 FAMILIAR LIFE EST FIELD AND FOREST. 

From spring to autumn his food consists of nu- 
merous herbs, grasses, aquatic plants, leaves of shrubs 
and trees, and the berries of the mountain ash and 
dwarf cornel. When beech nuts are plenty — the trees 
bear in alternate years — these constitute a large por- 
tion of his fare. By the middle of September the 

deer in the Adirondack 
region desert the water 
courses and retire to the 
more secluded parts of the 
forest.* Here they congre- 
gate during the deep snows 
of winter in what are called 
deer yards ; these are certain 
sheltered localities where 
the heavy snow is trampled down and pathways lead 
in all directions toward promising food supplies, and 
where under thickets of spruce and fir the animals 
find sufficiently comfortable beds. Mr. Yerplanck 
Colvin, speaking of one of these deer yards, describes 
it as resembling a sheep yard in winter. f 

The deer is not a strictly nocturnal animal, al- 
though he haunts the shores of the Adirondack lakes 



* Vide Transactions of the Linnaean Society. Animals of the 
Adirondacks. Dr. C. H. Merriam. 

f Vide Report of the Adirondack Survey for 1880, Yer- 
planck Colvin. 




A FLEET-FOOTED NEIGHBOR IN THE WOODS. 235 



who was 



through all hours of the night ; he is also frequently 
seen browsing in the grassy glades of the forest dur- 
ing the afternoon hours, and when I saw the two 
animals near our cottage in the White Mountains, 
last summer, it was as late as eight o'clock in the 
morning. On another occasion : X & I stirred 
up a deer shortly after midday 
quietly feeding in a 
forest opening on a *$ 
mountain side. Dr, 
Me^riam, however, 
says that it is the 
habit of Adiron- 
dack deer to visit 
the water at 
night and retire 
to the depths MH iSPS 

" Quietly feeding in a forest opening. 11 



of the forest 
at break of 

day. Unquestionably different individuals are timid 
to a greater or less degree ; that is perfectly plain in 
their conduct. One will not venture abroad in full 
daylight, and another has not only been browsing in 
the open during the greater part of the day, but has 
joined company with the cows at four o'clock in the 
afternoon, attracted, perhaps, by the little trough 
containing salt for the cattle lodged close beside the 




236 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



pasture bars. A glance at a timid deer shows that 
all his faculties are on the alert : the head is erect, 
the broad ears are turned in the direction of danger, 
the eyes intently peer at a single leaf that waggles 
in a passing zephyr, the nostrils are distended and in 
motion, ^ and an uneasy fore foot is poised 
for a run. When the animal is 
at last satisfied that 




Running Deer (from a photograph). 

his safety is threatened, the spindlelike legs are 
raised, there are a few graceful bounds rather than 
steps over the intervening ferns and lichen-covered 
stones, and the creature is gone. But in a swift run 
he covers the ground like an india-rubber ball, touch- 
ing it only at every sixteen feet maybe. 

The beautiful antlers of the deer are shed and re- 
newed each year — the so-called " spike horn," or ant- 
lers without any branches, belong to an animal about 



A FLEET-FOOTED NEIGHBOR IN THE WOODS. 237 



a year old. The two-branched horn belongs to a 
deer three years old, and so on. Very rarely indeed 
a female will develop a spike horn covered with vel- 
vet. This velvety covering of the antlers when they 




The spike horn. Antlers four years old. Antlers three years old. 

first appear is a most remarkable part of the develop- 
ment of the horns. I quote in part what Dr. Mer- 
riam has to say regarding it : " The new horns of a 
deer in the Adirondacks are first seen about the mid- 
dle of May ; they appear like 
soft, dark-colored excrescences 
which, as they rapidly elongate, 
harden from below upward. 
By the time the growth, which 
is accomplished in about three 
months, is completed, all but 
the tips is well ossified ; the 
soft, velvetlike skin now begins 
to peel off in irregular shreds, 
and by the first or middle of 
September the horns are generally clean. This vel- 
vet does not come away of itself, but the animal rubs 




" The skin now begins to peel 
off in irregular shreds." 



238 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

it off against small trees, as if the antlers itched." 
Judge Caton, of Ottawa, says : " The evidence which 
I have derived from a great number of observations 
made through a course of years is conclusive that 
Nature prompts the animal to denude its antlers of 
their covering at a certain period of growth, while 
yet the blood has as free access to it as it eyer had." 

Four months after the antlers have fully matured 
they fall off again. The largest and handsomest horns 
come from middle-aged deer ; those with few prongs 
come from young or very old animals, and sometimes 
from a very ill-conditioned or sickly one. 

The rutting season of the deer is in November ; 
during this month the bucks rush wildly about and 




u The bucks fight like trooper s." 

fight like troopers. As a consequence, that mag- 
nificent game park established by the late Austin 
Corbin in the wild and picturesque region of Suna- 
pee, N. H., has to be closed to all visitors. I am told 
that it is not safe to meet a deer on the grounds while 
he is in this pugnacious state of mind ; it is not infre- 






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A FLEET-FOOTED NEIGHBOR IN THE WOODS. 239 

quently the case that he will attack a man and do 
some fearful work with horns and sharp hoofs. In- 
deed, the wild and rampant creature at this time for- 
feits all claim to that mild and attractive disposition 
which is his usual attribute ; his neck is greatly en- 
larged, he fights furiously with his fellow bucks, and 
sometimes loses his life in a desperate encounter 
through the locking of the antlers. When this hap- 
pens in the wild woods the animals can not separate, 
and both miserably perish of exhaustion and starva- 
tion. What a strange tragedy of Nature ! Dr. Mer- 
riam says that his father possessed a set of locked ant- 
lers which he found on the frozen carcasses of two 
deer which had perished on the ice in Pine Creek, 
~N. Y. Audubon also states that he once saw three 
pairs of antlers interlocked, and remarks upon the 
pathetic sight the owners must have made as they 
slowly starved in the midst of plenty. But Audubon 
did not take into account the fact that exhaustion 
shortened the animals' lives, and mercifully, there- 
fore, the period of their starvation. 

As a rule, the female deer bears two fawns — one 
is quite the exception — and these are born in the 
month of May ; they are quick at making use of their 
slender, long legs. The little fawn is prettiest when 
he is about a month and a half old ; the sides are 
spotted with white, the face is delicately graded with 



240 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



deeper and paler color, and the eyes are unusually 
large and expressive. The dainty creature is the 



gracefulness in move- 

pearance ; nothing is 

than the airiness of 




Female Deer. 



very embodiment of 
ment as well as ap- 
more charming 
his little leaps 
over the uneven turf, 
and he is perfectly sure- 
footed ; I doubt wheth- 
er any one ever saw a 
young deer stumble. 
He is an inquisitive 
little animal too, con- 
stantly mixing his ex- 
treme timidity with an overwhelming curiosity to 
know what a strange-looking object is made of, and 

trusting to his agile 

legs to escape if 

it should prove 

dangerous. He is 

also omnivorous, like 

the goat, and eats 

anything that comes 

along. There is a 

record of one young 

fawn who was reckless enough to devour a paper of 

chewing tobacco which happened to come wdthin his 




A young Fawn. 



A FLEET-FOOTED NEIGHBOR IN THE WOODS. 241 

reach ; but he paid the penalty of his rashness with 
his life the next day. 

Yery young fawns bleat like little lambs, and the 
voice of a doe is a high-pitched and tremulous whistle 
or squeal. It is said that a buck when he is surprised 
and frightened utters a sharp, shrill whistle. But he 
is far from a coward, like the bear, and he runs only 
when he is persuaded that his horns and hoofs are 
not equal to the emergency. 

If the deer meets a rattlesnake in the woods he 
considers it a deadly enemy and jumps upon it with 
" all fours," cutting it to pieces with his sharp hoofs ; 
indeed, he is quite capable of kicking a man into un- 




" Swimming across the lake." 

consciousness by springing upon him with his sharp- 
hoofed fore feet. When he is swimming across a lake 
the rash and unsophisticated hunter who is sufficiently 
near to grab him by the antlers, does so at the risk of 
a broken arm, for still the active limbs are ready to 
inflict a stunning blow. The only way to seize a deer 



242 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



in the water is by the tail — an unreachable member ; 
for the animal is an expert and swift swimmer, who 
learned the art when he was but three or four months 
old, and now that he is older his legs are by no means 
hampered by so light a task. 

Contending for half the year with the severities of 
a hard climate where the mercury frequently drops 
thirty degrees below zero ; chased not infrequently by 
his deadliest enemy, the panther 
(Felis concolor) ; 
hunted 
and day by 
another 



night 




Two young Female Deer. 



not less deadly enemy, man, the w T onder is that the 
Yirginia deer survives in the face of such terrific 
odds. But, given a fair chance, he holds his own in 
the wilderness, and with the protection of admirably 
effective game laws, there is no reason why he should 
not increase. 

In the Adirondacks there have been three ways 
in common practice of hunting the deer : The first is 
by shooting him at night, as he feeds on the margin 



A FLEET-FOOTED NEIGHBOR IX THE WOODS. 243 

of the lake, with the aid of a " jack " light — a sort of 
reflector lantern which casts all its light ahead from 
the bow of a boat in which the hunter is concealed by 
the darkness. This method takes advantage of the in- 
ordinate curiosity of the animal, and he loses his life 
by allowing the mysterious light to approach too 
near. The second is by driving — that is, by chasing 
him with hounds in daytime, and driving him into the 
lake, on the shore of which the sportsman is posted 
with his boat, so that he can easily pursue and shoot 
him. And the third is by still-hunting — that is, by 
following his tracks over the snow in winter and 
shooting him after a prolonged chase in his forest 
home, perhaps under some fallen tree top where he 
has taken refuge. A wounded deer is not usually 
followed, but tracked by his prints and blood stains 
several hours, or perhaps the next day, after he is 
shot. The reason is quite obvious, for experienced 
hunters say that a deer will run several miles when 
he is severely wounded. Judge Caton says that he 
has known of one that ran a mile and a half after he 
was shot through both lungs with a 0.44-caliber rifle 
ball. 

In the State of New Hampshire hunting the deer 
by hounds is contrary to law, and in the season al- 
lowed for shooting the sportsman must get his deer 
the best way he can by means of his gun. This is 



244: FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

the fairest kind of sport, for the deer has an equal 
chance with the hunter; the latter must still-hunt 
and prove his skill as a marksman by bringing down 
his game by a single well-directed shot, or else, with 
less success, he must make up his mind to follow 
the tracks of the wounded creature several miles over 
the snow-clad hills the next day. 

Not long ago, a fine deer, weighing one hundred 
and fifty-four pounds, was shot near my cottage by 
the " fair-play " means of still-hunting, and my sports- 
man neighbor,* ever a good shot at a partridge, 
brought down his game with unerring aim. 

The flesh of the deer is the most juicy and pala- 
table of all meats, and it is also the most easily di- 
gested. The hide not only makes excellent heavy 
driving gloves and moccasins, but, when it is well 
dressed and neatly lined, it makes a handsome chair 
rug. It is in the best condition in November. 

* Whose name is James McCann, a true man of the woods, 
whose knowledge of Nature, from the humblest flower to the giant 
trees of the forest, including all the animals great and small that 
live under their shade, I have found to be like an interesting vol- 
ume — but one not yet published. 



CHAPTER XV. 



A SEMIANNUAL SLEEPER AND A NIGHTLY 
PROWLER.' 

The Woodchuck and Porcupine. 

If one could shake a red and a gray squirrel to- 
gether in a bag until they merged into one individual 
with a coat neither red nor gray, then blow the thing 
up with the bellows into 
thrice its former size, 
jam the face togeth- 
er, trim down the 
ears, enlarge 
the paws, 
chop off half *l 
the tail, and finish 
by knocking just half 

the life out of it, one would have a fair imitation 
of the woodchuck or marmot (Arctomys monax)* 
that grave and indefatigable old burro wer who in- 
habits the field on every farm in the country — or 




* His Indian name is Wenusk. 



245 



246 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

nearly every farm, for his range extends from the 
Carolinas to Canada, and from the seaboard to Mis- 
souri, Iowa, and Minnesota. 

The names of this familiar American animal are 
both significant and appropriate ; Arctomys comes 
from the Latin arcto, meaning to draw close together, 
in allusion to the habit of the animal of slathering 
himself together in a ball for a long winter's nap. 
The specific monax means a monk, also remarkably 
appropriate, for the animal generally lives quite by 
himself in the deepest seclusion. As for the plain 
Yankee name of " woodchuck," whatever may be its 
serious import, there used to be a legend connected 
with it of expressive interest, which deserves repeti- 
tion here. 

In olden times — probably the time of JEsop — the 
lesser animals used to live in one happy country with 
a judge over them — the dog. One day a rabbit, 
whose burrow adjoined that of a marmot, complained 
to the latter that the little rabbits 5 eyes were contin- 
ually filled with the dirt which he carelessly threw 
out of his burrow. However, the marmot paid no 
heed to the remonstrance, and the rabbit was com- 
pelled to appeal to the judge ; he immediately sent 
word to the offender that he must be more careful in r 
the future. But the insolent marmot, notorious for 
his incivility and indifference, replied to the messen- 



A SEMIANNUAL SLEEPER. 2±7 
ger that he would chuck his dirt where he d d 



pleased ! That settled it ; the dog has been hunting 
for the gross offender ever since, and the name 
u woodchuck " stuck to the whole tribe. 

The general appearance of the animal is not irre- 
sistibly attractive ; he is grizzly brown over the back 
and chestnut color beneath ; * his body is about thir- 
teen and the tail four inches long ; he is so loosely 
" hung " that apparently he has less bones in his 
anatomy than a cat. But who does not know the 
woodchuck well, and what country dog has not soiled 
his nose in enlarging the endless burrow all to no 
purpose ? He seems to be an encumbrance on the 
farm, without attraction or interest except for the 
small boy and the dog. 

Not many years ago the farmers of New Hamp- 
shire, finding the woodchuck an unmitigated bore, 
demanded of the State Legislature some measure to 
relieve them from the impositions of the beast. Alas 
for the woodchuck ! a bounty of ten cents was placed 
upon his devoted head, and he could venture to stick 
his whiskers beyond the confines of his burrow in 
safety only on Sunday, because on that day, if his 
body fell into the hands of the enemy, the devout 
Legislature refused to allow the bounty. 

* Melanistic — that is, black — phases of the woodchuck's coat 
are not uncommon. 



248 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

But the chairman of the committee appointed to 
inquire into the moral status of the woodchuck — Mr. 
C. E. Corning — was too wise a man not to see the 
anomalous character of his task. So he turned in a 
report worthy of a gifted humorist, whose pleasant- 
ries are instinct with keen wit and harmless satire. 
Indeed, he most ingeniously aimed over the wood- 
chuck's shoulder and threw the clown's cap on the 
farmer's head. So the " beastie " came off easy with 
the following uncomplimentary comments on his per- 
son : " Your committee finds the woodchuck destitute 
of any interesting qualities. . . . The casual observer 
is not attracted by the brilliancy of his colors. . . . 
The family was evidently designed and brought forth 
under conditions of severe simplicity. . . . The crea- 
ture's only purpose in venturing forth during the 
day is to get a good ' lay of the land.' Like the bear, 
the gait of the thing under consideration is plan- 
tigrade ; but in order occasionally to exercise its 
toes, it climbs small trees and shrubs ; then, perfectly 
satisfied that its pedal extremities are in good work- 
ing trim, it descends to the ground and again resumes 
its monotonous waddle. The woodchuck, despite its 
deformities of both mind and body, possesses some of 
the amenities of a higher civilization. It cleans its 
face after the manner of a squirrel, and licks its fur 
after the manner of a cat ; your committee is too 



A SEMIANNUAL SLEEPER. 249 

wise, however, to be deceived by this purely super- 
ficial observance of better habits. . . . The wood- 
chuck is not only a nuisance but a bore ; it burrows 
beneath the soil and then chuckles to see a mowing 
machine, man and all, slump into one of these holes 
and disappear ! " 

Now this most uninteresting animal is a strict 
vegetarian ; his home is usually on the border of a 
fertile field where food is j&mt* P^ en ty ; this 
consists of succulent grasses CSPIe^. .J? ^ 
and herbs, roots, vege- 
tables, and es- 
pecially red 
clover. Of 

the last he ^?%^M$L 
is particular- '- ; { v&j£\\l) '&&&!& 
ly fond, and " ^ cM 

d " On the border of a fertile field. " 

wherever there 

is a red-clover field one is pretty sure to see either a 

woodchuck or his burrow. 

Digging out a woodchuck's hole with the expec- 
tation of finding the occupant, is an undertaking too 
arduous to find a fit expression in words. The gal- 
lery slopes off at an angle of about twenty-three de- 
grees for a length of four feet ; then, at a depth of 
three — sometimes only two — feet below the surface, 
it inclines upward in no settled direction and con- 







250 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

tinues for about ten feet, but divided perhaps into 
two galleries, each of which leads to a circular cham- 
ber a foot in diameter ; in this there is a snug nest 
made of dried grasses, leaves, etc. Here the creature 
dwells with his fields of plenty directly over his head, 
and one would think that, like the squirrels, when in 
the midst of abundance he would set by a store of 
good things for the winter ; but not at all. He is no 
hand at providing for the future ;* the very nature of 
his food is perishable, and it is a question whether it 
would outlast the cold even of a protecting burrow. 
Very soon after the autumnal equinox the improvi- 
dent animal retires to his hole which he has now dug 
on the sheltering margin of the wood, and he does 
not venture forth again until the arrival of the spring 
equinox, which is sometimes coincidental with the so- 
called " woodchuck's day." f If the weather is still 
too cold to be springlike, his day — which weather- 
wise folk always insist is a forerunner of six weeks' 
sunshine — will be postponed. 



* I actually found in Brehm's Life of Animals — a very good 
Natural History, by the way — the absurdly incorrect statement 
that the woodchuck in the fall occupies himself in collecting 
provender for the coming winter ! 

f In different localities the times of the woodchuck are also 
different ; farther south, he reappears about the middle of March, 
and in the valley of the Connecticut he remains out until No- 
vember. 



A SEMIANNUAL SLEEPER. 251 

He is the most remarkable of all hibernating ani- 
mals ; no other creature sleeps so profoundly or so 
long. Only the little flying squirrel is at all like him. 
The gray squirrel sleeps exclusively through the se- 
verest part of winter ; the chipmunk wakes up to 
partake of his plentiful stores, and quite frequently 
takes a peep at the outside world, and the chickaree 
is abroad all winter except when it is violently cold. 
But the woodchuck is a sleeper. All the preparation 
he makes for the cold and foodless winter is an inor- 
dinate stuffing of himself with red clover in the latter 
part of September. He enters his hole, therefore, 
with excessively sleek and fat sides, and somehow or 
other lives on his accumulated fat through the long 
season of ice and snow. In his dormant state the 
heart action is greatly slackened and respiration is 
only detected by an instrument designed for the pur- 
pose, which must be very delicately adjusted. He can 
be rolled about like a ball without seeming to be in 
the slightest way inconvenienced or disturbed ; he 
will awaken in a warm room, but goes to sleep 
again without an effort. Of course, with warm sur- 
roundings and plenty of food he will not sleep as 
he does in a state of Nature ; but his hereditary 
habit is strong, and he can never be called thor- 
oughly awake in midwinter under the best of cir- 
cumstances. 



252 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



In September the woodchuck sits by his hole the 
perfect image of listlessness ; he is as absolutely mo- 
tionless as a " bump on a log." Possibly he medi- 
tates upon the changing aspect of Nature, at any rate 
he does not move a muscle, and it is doubtful whether 



his mind works 
silently and 



Approach him never so 
cautiously and he pops 
in without a prelimi- 
nary movement. On 
one occasion, though, 
I did actually see 
(f y him change his po- 
sition before he dis- 
appeared. At first 
he was upright, then 
on my nearer ap- 
proach he dropped 
horizontally, and when 
I got to within ten feet of him he was gone. Pres- 
ently I took a harmonicon from my pocket and 
played softly upon it ; being highly susceptible to 
the sweet influences of music he reappeared at his 
doorstep, and, with a slight expression of disturbance 
on his usually dull countenance, eyed me with some 
curiosity and disapproval. I imagined if he pos- 
sessed the power of speech he would have said, 
" This may be quite a clever performance, sir, but 




" The perfect image of listlessness. 1 



A NIGHTLY PROWLER. 253 

on the whole I'd thank you not to disturb my 
autumn reverie." 

When the woodchuck is tamed he is not uninter- 
esting, and there are numerous stories told of his 
strange habits which are quite amusing. Dr. Kel- 
logg, in the American Naturalist,* tells of a tame 
marmot he had which was allowed to sit at table with 
the family in one of the children's chairs. This he 
did with all possible decorum ; but when he smelled 
the sweet cake and other tempting viands, he forgot 
his manners and manifested his pleasure by singing a 
purring kind of a song, during the performance of 
which his lips and nostrils appeared to be slightly agi- 
tated. When the woodchuck is unexpectedly startled 
by an approaching footstep he utters a sharp, tremu- 
lous whistle which reminds one of the agitated voice 
of the red squirrel. 

The female bears from four to six young about 
the end of April or the first of May ; these remain 
with the mother until the latter part of the summer, 
when they shift for themselves, digging their own 
holes and hibernating in the winter quite alone. But 
one adult woodchuck with his mate inhabits a bur- 
row, not more. 

Quite unlike him in both appearance and habits, 

* Vide American Naturalist for June, 1872, vol. vi. 



254: FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

the porcupine {Ereihizon dorsatus) * nevertheless 
strongly resembles this meadow burrower in one par- 
ticular, he is unqualifiedly stupid, 
far more jtrfk; lgfflfe^ stupid than any 
other ,4imt^^^^^^^^^^^ beast of the 




'fiPfJMtfb* 



Porcupine on the march. 




field. But he can afford to be, for he has few ene- 
mies ; all creatures except the fisher and the panther 
let him alone. His fearful quills, which have an 
awkward way of sticking fast in everything they 
touch (excepting his own hide), are formidable things 

to deal with when 
one wants to seize 
him by the back. 

The quills. J 

There it is ! his 
back is simply prohibitive ; he can carry it with un- 
concern as slowly as he pleases, for a more effective 
armor is not to be found outside of the navy ! 

The porcupine can not even boast of a pleasing 
countenance. To look one square in the face is to 

* Another significant name, from cpeOifa erethizo, to irritate 
or provoke, and from dorsum, a back. Very wrongly the animal 
is often called a hedgehog. 







.5 R 



W 

z 

s 

D 
O 
(X 

o 

a, 



s -b a 



he 



A XIGHTLY PROWLER. 



255 






Sftfllft 




realize the fact that Nature has somehow or other 
made a botch of it ; its expression is as grotesque as 
that which characterizes Mr. TenniePs Jabberwock in 

Alice in ^Wonderland. Xo wonder then, when we 
surprise him in the wood shed, his uncanny appear- 
ance and sluggish movements give us a sort of men- 
tal shock. He is like some old, 
suspicious-looking tramp who 
is always seen at dusk haunt- 
ing the outskirts of the farm 
buildings and scaring people 
more by his looks than his 
deeds. TThen he appears in 
the daytime he is usually 
lodged high up on the limb 
of a tree ; but, as a rule, he remains within his den 
somewhere beneath a neighboring rocky ledge during 
the day, and issues forth only at night, when he may 
be heard ma wins; awav at the foundations of the old 
wood shed. He is a nocturnal prowler of the worst 
kind, doinor his deeds of darkness — never anything 
worse than the gnawing of wood — in the immediate 
vicinity of the farmhouse. But he sometimes has a 
bad habit of girdling and thus ruining the forest 
trees, especially the spruce. 

He has a most inordinate appetite for salt, and 
will devour, in time, the whole floor of the wash shed 



" Nature made a botch 
of it."' 



256 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



if he is given the chance, for the simple reason that 
it has been well seasoned with salt water from the 
ice-cream freezer. He does not hibernate like the 
woodchuck, but goes abroad both winter and summer 
on the coldest and hottest nights. He is also a strict 
vegetarian, feeding on succulent 
bark, the foliage and twigs of 
trees, buds, and beechnuts ; 
but he is always ready to 
gnaw a house down if it con- 
tains a grain of salt ; and in 
the dead of the night he at- 
tacks the woodshed door 
with the vim of a rat and 
ten times as much assur- 
ance, for he can not be 
driven away with the 
thundering clatter of old 
boots and sticks of wood 
JSTine times in ten he will 
continue to gnaw until some one opens the door 
and clubs him away with a respectable- sized piece of 
cord wood ; there is but one thing he heeds, all else 
fails, that is the firecracker ! Of this mysterious in- 
vention of a refined civilization he is suspicious; 
probably the fiery spluttering more than the noise 
awakens in his dull mind some sense of a danger 




u He is always 
ready to gnaw 
a house down. 1 



against the partition. 



A NIGHTLY PROWLER. 257 

from which his quills afford no protection, so he 
moves off. 

I once captured one in my wood shed, which had 
busied himself for several nights previous by altering 
the contours of the house and the ice-cream freezer. 
It was night, I had no heart to kill the creature, so he 
was left till mornino; under an inverted wash tub. 
The next day, after furnishing the family with some 
entertainment by his enticing looks, queer whining 
noises (he had a shrill cry), and loudly chattering 
teeth, he was invited to move on with the aid of a 
shovel and was dispatched by the farm hand. He 
weighed fully sixteen pounds. His back was broad, 
his tail flattened and heavy, and his feet naked like a 
bear's. His claws were large and curved, and these 
with his peculiar tail showed very plainly that it 
was not difficult for him to climb a tree. This pon- 
derous tail of his is capable of dealing a tremendous 
stinging blow laterally ; when he hits a dog with it 
there is an immediate cessation of hostilities, the dog 
retires with howls of pain, and then, while one de- 
votes one's attention to extracting the quills in his 
mouth, the porcupine gets away. These quills * un- 
der a microscope are minutely rough with a sort of 

* They are artistically used by the Indians in the Northwest 
for the decoration of birch-bark boxes, buckskin moccasins, leg- 
gings, etc. ; often they are dyed a variety of colors. 
18 



258 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

bearded formation which points backward ; thus they 
continually work deeper into the flesh unless immedi- 
ately withdrawn. On the porcupine's back they in- 
cline backward, and are raised by a special layer of 
muscle ; but they are never shot from the hide of the 
creature, as some people ignorantly assert ; the idea is 
too absurd to receive a moment's notice, yet there are 
many who persist in believing in it. 

The porcupine's nest is sometimes in a hollow log, 
but oftener under the strewn rocks in the forest. 
The female bears two — rarely three — young about 
the first of May ; they are relatively twenty-five times 
as large as the young of the bear at birth. 




" It was not difficult for him to 
climb a tree." 

Photographed from life by 
W. Lyman Underwood. 



CHAPTEE XVI. 

SMALL FOLK WITH LIVELY FEET. 

The Gray Rabbit, Northern Varying Hare, and the 

Squirrels. 

The little gray rabbit (Lepns transiiionalis*) 
which often goes by the soubriquet of Mollie Cotton- 
tail, is a most remarkably prolific animal ; that 
is the first thing of interest about the creature. 
The next thing is, that its favorite food unfor- 
tunately is the buds, young shoots, and bark 
of apple or peach trees — especially those new 
kinds which one has set out in the orchard. 
When the moon is shining full over the glit- 
tering snow, and the winter night is full 
\X\ of witchery and charm, the aesthetic side 
m\ of Nature appeals to one's highest and 

' 5 J U best thoughts. But let the two ears of 

The silhouette ° 

of two ears. bunny appear silhouetted against the 

silvery light, and there is another side 

of Nature revealed which is not quite so charming. 

To the artist the picture is not only still beautiful, 

* Formerly Lepus sylvaticus. 

259 



260 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

but the accent of those two black ears is just one 
more charm which rounds out the " moonlight 
monotone" to its fullest perfection. 

But to the man who owns the apple orchard, 
the picture ceases to be beautiful; his eye is ob- 
scured with the black whisperings of vengeance, 
and thinking only of the danger threatening his 
new trees, he reaches for his gun, and sallies forth 
into the night with the intention of making a red 
mark just under the two black ears. 

Lepus transition-alls, a rabbit of the woods, is quite 
as frequently a rabbit of the orchard ; and the amount 
of damage he is capable of doing there is in- 
calculable. He girdles the trees, gnaws 
the lower twigs, and even climbs 
into the environing shrubbery 
to reach the higher ones and 
denude them of bark and 
#*. buds. But besides the 
apple-tree, he feeds on the 

"Mollie Cottontail." 1L 

briers, sumachs, hazels, 
black birches, hickories, and shrubbery in general 
which he finds on the roadside and in the garden. He 
has also other enemies than man, chief among which 
are the fox, ermine, eagle, and great horned owl ; 
besides these he is subject to attacks by the snowy 
owl, the larger hawks, the marten, and the mink. 





■^■1 -j >-'-* a ■ . ■:*" 



THE GRAY RABBIT. 
LEPUS TRAXSITIOXALIS. 

•• The moonlight monotone." 



SMALL FOLK WITH LIVELY FEET. 



261 






h 






The readiness, however, with which he can escape 

from a pursuer in an open chase saves him from easy 

destruction. For - any swift-footed 

animal to catch a rabbit on the 

run is a rare thing ; one glance at 

my sketch of the agile creature's 

footprints in the snow will show 
what the nature 
of his flight is. 
Evidently it is a ra^J^j^ 1 
series of extraor- 
dinary leaps, with 

almost all of the force of propulsion 

exerted by the liind feet. The hind 

legs of a rabbit move together as 

fectly as if they were joined ; the thrust 

is sudden, and so wide that the hind His enemy, the 

Snowy Owl. 

legs overlap the fore legs, striking the 
snow just beyond and outside of them. In watch- 
ing the leaps of my pet Manx cat, whose hind legs 




Footprints in the snow, 




were remarkably long 
always noticed that 
he ran like a 
rabbit, and 
" doubled 



and well developed, I 



up " like 
those run- 




fa" '-<*■ «ft& 



'On the run/' 



, :%'.;:><--' 



262 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 




ning horses in Mr. Muy bridge's extraordinary photo- 
graphs ; consequently he developed a speed not very 
far short of that of the wild ^m?>— rabbit. 

The gray rabbit burrows 
in the earth and in the 
hollows of decaying trees, and 
winters in quite a snug retreat ; 
often he finds the deserted burrow of 
the woodchuck quite acceptable for 
a home. The prolific female bears 
from four to six young, and she rears from three 
to four families a year. She lines her nest with 
soft leaves, grasses, and the fur from her own body. 
In about thirty days the young rabbits are able to 
shift for themselves. Like the other small animals 
the rabbit forms regular 



^Wa5u& 

'Doubled up.' 





Very young Rabbit. Young Rabbit. 

runways, and in these he is easily trapped. He is 
so common in some localities that he may be seen 
day and night skipping through the woods, although, 
as a rule, he is supposed to be fairly nocturnal in his 
habits. 



SMALL FOLK WITH LIVELY FEET. 



263 




Northern Varying Hare ; summer coat. 



His greater relative who lives in the Xorth, 
more particularly among the mountains, is called the 
American varying hare (L&pus amcrt- 
canus virginianus). This animal is 
remarkable for his change of 
color ; in summer he is 
dark-red brown, and 
winter he is perfectly 
white. Regarding the 
nature of this change 
I must repeat in sub- 
stance the opinions ex- 
pressed by Dr. Merriam and Prof. J. A. Allen. 
Dr. Merriam says that when the change occurs 
in the fall, the fur lengthens and 
blanches, the individual hairs 
changing color after the 
first fall of 
snow. Like 
a majority of 
^ the mammals, 
this hare has two ^7^^\ *^S? kinds of fur : an 
under and soft kind ^^f»*\ which covers all 
parts of the body, and "^%^ an upper, longer 
and stifier kind which is scattered through 

it. This last, which is blackish in summer, becomes 
in the fall white at the tips first, and fades down- 




264 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

ward. In spring the process is exactly reversed — the 
exposed portions of the stiff fur become black by the 
end of March, and while the animal is still white 
hundreds of the blackish hairs appear scattered over 
the back, some of which are white in the middle and 
others white on the tips. In the course of time the 
white fur loses its vitality, becomes brittle, and is 
brushed off by the underwood of the forest. 

Professor Allen says that while the change from 
brown to white in the American varying hare is sup- 
posed to be largely due to molt, it sometimes ap- 
pears to take place so suddenly that it is popularly 
thought to be due in some degree to the blanching of 
the hair; but the real nature of the change is not 
precisely agreed upon by naturalists, it is as yet a 
matter of dispute. 

We are at liberty, then, to accept any hypothesis 
of this remarkable change of color which seems most 
reasonable ; and " who shall decide when doctors 
disagree ? " 

In summer this varying hare feeds upon leaves, 
buds, berries, and succulent herbs and grasses. In 
winter he has to content himself with the bark of 
young poplars, birches, willows, and such berries as 
the snow may leave uncovered ; often, too, he gets 
what he can in the vicinity of the farm by prowling 
around at night. But his enemies are plenty — the 



SMALL FOLK WITH LIVELY FEET. 265 

same as those of the gray rabbit— and he is ever on 
the alert for an unexpected attack. 

He follows definite paths of his own making, like 
the gray rabbit, but unlike him he does not inhabit a 
burrow. His nest is the rather uncertain shelter of a, 
fallen tree, or the covering of some hollowed log. In 
this he remains most of the day and ventures out for 
food at night. The female bears from four to six 
young in the latter part of May. 

This hare is very common in the North country, 
and is sought in the early winter by sportsmen, who 
consider his flesh the best of eating. Many of the 
animals find their way to the Boston market, and a 
well-conditioned one, which may weigh from four to 
nearly five pounds, makes a savory stew fit for the 
table of an epicure. In parts of northern Maine, 
New Hampshire, and Vermont, this hare is abundant ; 
and in the vicinity of Nipigon, Ontario, during the 
fall and winter, many of the poor things are killed 
in the night by the passing trains of the Canadian 
Pacific Railroad. Mr. G. S. Miller, Jr., writing of 
the varying hare which he found plentiful just north 
of Lake Superior, says that one was taken on the 5th 
of October at Peninsular Harbor, the winter pelage 
of which was just beginning to appear on the ears 
and buttocks ; but on certain others taken two weeks 
later the winter coat was nearly complete. 



266 FAMILIAR LIF3 IX FIELD AND FOREST. 

Inhabiting the same wood with the varying hare, 
but far more active than he is in every motion of the 
body, the sauciest scamp in the forest glade, and a 
notorious little villain for stealing a march on birds' 
nests, the red squirrel, or chickaree (Sciurus hudsoni- 
cus hudso?iicus, Sciurus hudsonius of Allen), is per- 
haps the most familiar phase of wild life in the forest 
or on the highway. But some of his tricks and man- 
ners are not thoroughly well known. 

He is a perfect nuisance to the trapper, as he 
continually springs the traps set for martens and 
minks, and quite often gets caught him- 
self. But his hide is not 
worth a cent, so the trap- 
per is disgusted. As for his 
habit of robbing birds' 
nests, that is fairly 
well known by every 
one who lives in the 
country in June. Last 

The Red Squirrel. . . _ . 

spring a pair 01 robins 
built their nest close to my cottage in a butternut 
tree, around the trunk of which I had built a rustic 
arbor, and all went on without disturbance until the 
young birds were hatched, when, late one afternoon, a 
red squirrel appeared, and in a very unconcerned way 
began to ascend the tree ostensibly to see how the 




SMALL FOLK WITH LIVELY FEET. 267 

butternuts were getting on. I knew very well what 
he was after, however, and noticed how slyly he 
sprang to one of the lower limbs which led in the di- 
rection of the nest. No sooner had he done this than 
the father bird, who was at least thirty yards away 
in a maple tree, made for him, and immediately there 
was a great commotion among the butternut leaves. 
In the midst of it the mother bird appeared with a 
hard-shelled bug in her mouth, which she dropped, 
and I heard it rattle down the arbor roof. Up and 
down, in and out among the leaves the birds chased 
the little scamp, and still he tried to elude the sharp 
bills, but vainly ; it was perfectly plain that the 
birds had the best of it, and that bunny's agility was 
no match for such a terrific winged onslaught. He 
fled at last in great confusion ; but the birds did not 
desist, and in his frantic attempts to defend himself 
he lost his hold and fell from limb to limb, until he 
landed on the arbor roof. Before he could recover 
himself the robins were at him again, and it was a 
running fight all the way to the neighboring pasture 
bars, where the birds gave up the chase and returned 
to their tree. It was amusing directly after to see 
the male bird station himself like a sentinel in a 
maple that adjoined the butternut. But it was just 
as well, for he had to defend the nest a third time 
before the fledglings were flown. 



268 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



The red squirrel is also a thief. He frequently 
has an encounter with a chipmunk at the latter' s door- 
step, and I have caught him in 
the act of 
stealing the 
stores of his 

The Chipmunk scolding. 

more provi- 
dent cousin. A chipmunk has his hole just beneath 
a pine tree outside of my garden fence, and most of 




travels back 

and the kitch- 

(he has large 

full of prov- 

i% while there 



the time the little creature 
and forth between this 
en door with his cheeks 
pouches in them) stuffed 
ender. Every once in a 
is a squabble under the 
pine tree, and I well 
know what it means 

M 

— the red squirrel is <••< 
there, thieving, per- 
haps. He is a good deal of 
a bully, and when it suits his 
fancy he attacks the hoards of 
the field mouse, which are care 
fully tucked away under some de- 
caying stump, and, utterly regard- 
less of the agitation he is creating " He attacks the 

c hoards of the 

among the proprietors, who survey field mouse." 




SMALL FOLK V^ITH LIVELY FEET. 260 

his deeds with squealing disapproval, tears their home 
asunder and eats their stores before their eyes, con- 
temptuously scattering the beechnut shells and the 
half -gnawed acorns over the snow under their very 
noses. 

In the autumn I have seen him among the top- 
most branches of a butternut shaking the nuts down 
and nipping at the stems of the more tenacious ones. 
One day last October I heard the continuous thump, 
thump, thump of the dropping nuts, and stepping out 
of my studio to see why they should fall when there 
was not a breath of air stirring, caught him at his 
work ; then I took a mean advantage of his industry, 
and sent the children out to gather the nuts. He 
surveyed their actions with the disapproval of a much- 
abased but helpless owner, and scolded most vocifer- 
ously. He is extraordinarily busy all through the 
months of September and October, and the stores of 
beechnuts, butternuts, acorns, and hazels he gathers 
would, if they were all piled together, astonish one be- 
yond measure. ^Vliy, when he gathers so much for 
himself, he must needs steal from his neighbors, it is 
difficult to understand. He has the keenest sense of 
the exact locality of a nut, and I am certain that he 
is led to attack the nest of a mouse more by his 
nostrils than his eyes. The keenness of his scent is 
proved by a bit of calculation which he did one win- 



270 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



ter in my closed-up cottage. A bushel basket filled 
with butternuts was placed close against the surbase 
in one of the rooms adjoining the attic. There was 
no possible way for the squirrel either to enter or see 
inside the room ; yet he smelled those nuts, and en- 
tering the attic, gnawed his way through the parti- 
tion, and entered the room through the surbase ex- 
actly at a point opposite the center of the basket ! 

His food in winter, though, is not wholly confined 
to nuts ; he eats the buds of the maple, oak, and 

birch, and any seeds or 
dried berries which he 
can find. He attacks the 
farmer's corn barn, and, 
unless the corner posts 
are well protected with 
slippery tin, effects an en- 
trance and carries off the 
grain. A careful examina- 
tion of the kernel shows 
that he eats the germ and leaves the rest. In the 
evergreen forest he will deftly handle a pine cone, 
and inverting it cut away scale after scale and devour 
the seeds hidden between ; in the same manner he 
demolishes a spruce cone. He does not hibernate, 
but keeps thus busy all winter long. 

He is an excellent swimmer, and crosses the pond 




" He will deftly handle a cone. 1 



S3IALL FOLK WITH LIVELY FEET. 071 

in midsummer when it is too troublesome to go 
around. But I notice that he avoids the colder water 
of the river. The forest he claims for his own, and 
any one who dares to disturb its quiet and seclusion 
he hails with a storm of chattering, whistling invec- 
tive, the meaning of which may be fairly summed up 
into two words — " Get out ! n His squeaky voice, not 
very different in tone and quality 




11 The wrathful creature jerks fearfully." 

from the raspings of an old violin in the hands of 
an amateur, strikes harshly upon the ear. All the 
while the body of the wrathful creature jerks fear- 
fully from head to tail ! 

The nest of the red squirrel is usually in the hole 
of a tree ; sometimes, farther South, it is constructed 
of soft, shreddy bark, and hidden in the thick upper 
branches of the spruce or the red cedar ; in this case 
it is spherical, and the opening is near the bottom. 
The female bears from four to six young about the 
first of April. She has few enemies to fear, the 
owl and the hawk being the only ones of serious con- 
sequence. 



272 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



The red squirrel is reddish brown throughout the 
summer ; but twice in the year he sheds his hair, and 
during the winter his aspect is much duller, and the 
red is not nearly so pronounced. Beneath he is white, 
and there is a dark line where this white meets the 
red on the sides. In winter the white is toned with 
brown gray, and the dark dividing line disappears. 

The chipmunk {Tamias listerii, formerly Tamias 
striatus) is the red squirrel's cousin ; but they have 
little to do with each other, and 
avoid all unnecessary meetings. 
A Western species of 




The Chipmunk. 



this genus, Tamias neg- 
lectus* which is com- 
mon in northern Mich- 
igan, Wisconsin, and 
Minnesota, is distinguished by the four stripes on 
its back instead of the three which characterize the 
more Eastern species striatus. The stripes, except 
the black, dorsal one, are white in the middle and 
bordered on either side with black. This Western 
chipmunk only hibernates when his food supply is 
cut off by the snow ; he will remain out wdien the 
temperature is as low as 15°. North Bay, Lake 
Nipissing, Canada, is the most easterly point where 
he has been found. 



* Formerly Tamias quadrivitatus. 



SMALL FOLK WITH LIVELY FEET. 273 

The Eastern chipmunk takes to his winter bed in 
the ground as soon as the cold and frosty nights of 
October come, and reappears again in March or 
April. He is not a profound sleeper, however, and 
often wakes up to "eat a bit." His abundant store 
of nuts,* seeds, corn, and buckwheat is tucked away 
underground where the red squirrel can not get at it, 
and he passes the winter in peace and plenty, only 
popping his nose above ground when the weather is 
warm, to make sure that the world still " wags on." 

The tail of this little fellow is insignificant, his 
body is much less athletic in its lines than that of the 
red squirrel, and in every way he shows himself not a 
climber. If he is scared in the forest, and takes ref- 
uge in a maple, he clings helplessly to the bark some- 
where about fifteen feet above the ground, and waits 
without a motion for the danger to pass, descending 
again spirally. 

He is not very timid, but I do not know that he is 
very easily domesticated. He is constantly about in 
my garden while I am at work there ; he feeds on the 
sunflower seeds in the autumn while I stand within 
five feet of him, and the children frequently feed him 
with crusts of bread and cake at a respectful but 

* It is a matter of some surprise to me that he cares for the 
clumsy big butternut ; but he often tackles one, and even carries 
it to his hole. As a rule, however, he prefers seeds to nuts. 
19 



274 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



pouches 



moderate distance. He also hangs around the kitchen 
way, and not infrequently enters the door in search 
of a few /£, fallen crumbs. On all his excur- 
sions to fjjf his burrow, not far from the front 
gate, he mm * appears with his cheek 

so stuffed out that his 
eyes are half closed, 
but on his return his 
physiognomy has re- 
sumed its normal propor- 
tions. 

He is quite the opposite of 
the red squirrel in one re- 
spect — he is quiet. Rarely he raises his voice above 
a scolding murmur, which sounds like chip-chip-ur- 
r-r, chip-r-r-r-r-r. g 




' He feeds on the sunflower 
seeds. 11 



The nest of the chip- 
munk is in a hollow 
chamber about as large as a 
cocoanut at the end of a tunnel 
about two feet long, and six- 
teen inches below the surface 
of the ground. The female 
bears from four to six young 
about the latter part of April. 

One of the prettiest of our squirrels is the little, 
soft-eyed, velvet-coated flying squirrel (Sciuropterus 




" The children frequently feed 
him with crusts of bread. 11 




wi * ; ! mm I 



CHIPMUNK. 
TAMIAS LISTERII. 

"He is the red squirrel's 
cousin." 



SMALL FOLK WITH LIVELY FEET. 



275 



volans volaris, Sciurojpterus volucella, Geoffroy) ; 
but he is out only after sunset, and does not often 



color 



is a 



so loose- 



appear on the highway. His 
brownish gray, and his skin is 
ly adjusted to his body that he 
can spread it out in a wide ex- 
panse and slide through the 
air from tree to tree on 
a flying leap of fully 
fifty feet. It is said 
that on extra occasions 
he can stretch this dis 

tance tO One hundred The Flying Squirrel. 

and fifty feet ; but I am confident of the fact that 

this is merely a fall, after the fashion of a parachute. 

Even the red squirrel can fall a matter of thirty feet 

with no inconvenience to his anat- 





A flying leap. 

omy, and there is no doubt but that a flying squirrel 
can sail a hundred feet or so through the air with all 
the semblance of a long leap, but in reality the dis- 
tance covered laterally is not so very great. This 



276 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

little creature is common all over the country, from 
the East to the West, as far as the plains. I have 
often seen him in Holderness, N. H., and he is com- 
mon at Profile Lake, Franconia Notch, 1ST. H. 

The nest of the flying squirrel is in a hole in a 
tree. The female bears from four to six young 
about the first of April or later. When captured 
and tamed the little ones make most charming pets. 
Next to the woodchuck, the flying squirrel 
one of the most profound 
sleepers of all hibernating 
animals. He retires to 
his nest early in Novem- 
ber, and does not reap- 
pear until the latter part of 
March. 

The big relative of the 

gfiia red squirrel — an animal 

made of coarser clay — 

The Gray Squirrel. J 

is the Northern gray 
squirrel {Sciurus carolinensis leucotis). This active 
fellow, familiar in many of the city parks, hibernates 
only when the weather is extremely cold, and then 
for no great length of time. So long as the mercury 
will stand above 16° the gray squirrel will venture out 
in the cold ; but when it drops below that, and the 
chances of food on the snow -covered ground are 




SMALL FOLK WITH LIVELY FEET. 



277 




Music ! 



scarce, he seeks the warmth and seclusion of his 
nest in the hollow of a tree, and stays there until 
the weather moderates. He is undoubtedly the most 
easily tamed of all our squirrels, and it takes only a 
small amount of patient waiting and quiet behavior 
to gain his confidence in the wild wood. A pocket- 
ful of nuts is one of the surest means 
of establishing an intimate acquaint- 
ance with him ; and if one is careful 
not to move suddenly and noisily, he 
will approach and take a nut from the 
hand. He is also susceptible to the charms of music, 
which may be amply proved by carrying a small 
music-box in the pocket for his especial 
entertainment. 

The nest of the gray squirrel is usually 
built in the crotch 
of a tree or in the 
hollow of a part- 
ly decayed limb. 
,„ The female bears 
from three to five 
helpless little ones, 
which are at first quite blind and hairless ; they re- 
main with the mother two months. Sometimes, far- 
ther South, the female will raise two litters in a year. 
The black squirrel is not a different species ; his 




The Black Squirrel 



278 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 

darker fur is simply a phase or variation of the ani- 
mal's more common condition in life — this dark 
color, in fact, is simply a case of melanism. 

It is very important in the study of wild life that 
we should recognize the exact relationship of the ani- 
mals, just as it is of like importance that we should 
know the affinities of plants. Without this knowl- 
edge one studies Nature at an immense disadvantage. 
It is a good beginning, for instance, to learn that we 
have really but two species of the fox in this country, 
and that there is an affinity between the little sundew 
plant and the larger pitcher plant. At present, even 
the botanists do not fully recognize the relationship 
between these two insect-catching characters of the 
vegetable world ; but they will surely do so some 
time in the future. 

As for the animal world, naturalists have not yet 
done with it, or at least with that part of it which is 
on this side of the Atlantic. Our black squirrel and 
gray squirrel are one species ; our weasels are none of 
them the ermine ; our black bear and cinnamon bear 
are two of a kind — Ursus americanus — and our 
Northern and Southern green snakes are unrelated 
excepting in color. 

To tell the truth, naturalists are still busily "sort- 
ing things out," and several of them say that they 
have not yet nearly finished ; but I have given the 



SMALL FOLK WITH LIVELY FEET. 279 

latest facts as I found them, and it is to be hoped 
that some of the last names to come in will not leave 
us before this book becomes ancient history ! But 
then — Temrpus est omnibus rebus. 



I N D E X 



Acer rv.brum. 15. 

Acris gryllus. 7. 11, 04. 

Acris grylius crepita i - 

Acris gryllus grylius, BL 

Adder. Blowing. 59. 79. 

Adder. Deaf. 79. 

Adder. Spotted. 70. 

Adder. Water, 77. 

Adirondack Mountains. X. Y.. 49. 59. 

182L 
Adirondack Wilderness or Woods. 

102. US. 124, 149. 155. 183, 231. 
Alleghany Mountains. 55. 74. 
Ambly stoma punctutum . 39. 
Amblystoma tigrinum. 40. 
Amphiuma means. 50. 
Ancistrodon contortrix 58 
Antlers. Deer. -237. 
Arbor vitas, IS?. 
Arctomys monax. 045. 
Arctostaj)hylos Uvo.-1'rsi, 1S6. 
Atlantic City. X. J.. 41. 
A u sable River. 104. 

Badger. 154. 

Baltimore oriole. 84 

Barney Butts's. Cairo. N. Y.. 154. 

Bartlett's. Adirondacks. 231. 

iium constrictor. 73. 
Bayfield, Mo.. 155. 
Bearberry. IS 
Bear. Black 

Bear. Cinnamon. 187, 278. 
Bittern, 96. 
Black cat. 116. 



Black Mountain. Lake George. 191. 

Black Mountains. X. C . 54 

Bojia-s: 

Botaurus U 5,96. 

Bubo virgin ianus. 100. 

Bufo americanus, : x . 

Bullfrog. 13. 23, 29. 

Bunchberry. 034. 

Oambarus. 

Campton, X. H.. 14. 54. B3. 
s, 225. 

Carcajou. 115. 
Cariaeus Dirginianus, 
Ca rph oph tops a ma n us. 68. 
! rmis, W. 
jdacus purj 
Gatskill Mountains. X. Y.. 44. 41 

' 182. 
Chicks lee, 95 
Chickaree. 251, -266. 

i, 110. 
Chipmunk. S B, 272L 

- -(tit us. 10. 
ClonopJu's kirthnuli. 77. 

phthalmus, 
tes aurat - 

er obsolete- . 70. 

■;'/!!<>. 70. 

• w> 

-. 94. 

Crayfish. 156. 

Crotai ^.66. 

K 
Cryptobranchus aUeqheniem 

281 



282 FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST. 



Cuckoo, Black-billed, 85. 
Cyclophis cestivus, 72. 
Cyclopias vernalis, 71. 

Deer, Virginia, 228. 
Desmognathus fusca, 53. 
Desmognathus nigra, 55. 
Desmognathus ochrophcea, 54. 
Diadophis punctatus, 71. 

Erethizon dorsatus, 254. 
Eutaznia radix, 74. 
Eutcenia saurita, 74. 
Eutcenia sirtalis dorsalis, 76. 
Eutcenia sirtalis sirtalis, 75. 

Felis concolor, 242. 

Fiber zibethicus, opposite page 2. 

Field mouse, 204, 268. 

Fisher, 116, 195. 

Flycatcher, Crested, 78. 

Fourth Lake, Adirondacks, 189. 

Fox, Black, or Silver, or Silver Gray, 

224, 226. 
Fox, Cross, 224, 227. 
Fox, English, 216. 
Fox, Gray, 223. 
Fox, Red, 195, 204, 213. 
Fox, Western, 224. 
Frog, Green, 23, 27. 
Frog, Leopard, 23. 
Frog, Northern, 26. 
Frog, Savannah cricket, 2, 7. 
Frog, Three-striped, 11. 
Frog, Wood, 23, 26, 33. 

Gaultheria procumbens, 110, 186, 233. 
Grasshopper, Cone-headed, 67. 
Green Mountains, 182. 
Gulo luscus, 113. 

Hare, American Varying, 263. 
Harvard Botanical Garden, Cam- 
bridge, 84. 
Hellbender, 38. 
Hepatica triloba, 1. 
Heterodon platyrhinus, 79. 
Heterodon simus, 79. 



Holderness, N. H., 276. 
Hoosac Hills, Mass., 112. 
Hyla andersonii, 13. 
Hyla, Anderson's, 29. 
Hyla picker ingii, 2, 11, 28. 
Hyla, Pickering's, 2, 49. 
Hyla versicolor, 5, 8, 14. 

Icterus galbula, 84. 

Lake Cham plain, 44, 59, 76. 

Lake George, 59, 191. 

Lake Mahopac, N. Y., 75. 

Lake Nipissing, Canada, 272. 

Lake Superior, 118, 125, 155, 265. 

Lake Umbagog, 125, 155. 

Lakewood, N. J., 12. 

Lepus americanus virginianus, 263. 

Lepus sylvaticus, 259. 

Lepus transitionalis, 259. 

Ley den, N. Y., 183. 

Liopeltis vernalis, 71. 

Livermore Falls, N. H., 149. 

Liverwort, 1. 

Loon, 101. 

Lutra canadensis, 155. 

Lutra hudsonica, opposite page 157. 

Lycopodium clavatum, 232. 

Lycopodium complanatum, 233. 

Lycopodium obscurum, 232. 

Manx cat, 72, 261. 

Maple swamp, 15. 

Marmot, 245. 

Marten, Pennant's, 116. 

Marten, Pine, 121. 

May's Lake, Adirondacks, 157. 

Mephitis mephitica, 153, 161. 

Merganser americanus, 105. 

Merganser serrator, 104. 

Merula migratoria, 81. 

Mink, 147. 

Mitchella repens, 110. 

Mollie Cottontail, 259. 

Mount Chocorua, White Mountains, 

183. 
Mount Tom, Mass., 73. 
Muskrat, 2, 153. 
Mustela americana, 116, 121. 



INDEX. 



283 



Ma stela pennanti, 116. 
Myiarclius crinitus, 78. 
Natrix fasciata sipedon. 77. 
Natrix leberis, 78. 
Necturus maculatus. 37. 
Necturus, Spotted, 37. 
Xerodia sipedon. 77. 
New Haven, Conn., 8. 
Nipigon, Ontario. 124, 265. 
Norway, Me., 14. 

Odocoileus virginianus, opposite 

page 233. 
Ophibolus doliatus triangulus, 70. 
Ophibolus getulus getulus, 69. 
Otter, 155. 

Owl, Great horned, 90, 260. 
Owl, Screech, 101. 
Owl, Snowy, 260. 

Panther. 242. 

Partridge, 106. 

Partridge berry, 110. 

Paul Smith's, Adirondacks, 231. 

Pecan, 116. 

Peeper. Spring, 2. 

Pernigewasset River Yalley, N. H., 

104. 132, 188, 219. 
Peninsular Harbor, 265. 
Pickerel weed, 233. 
Pine Hill, NY., 44. 
Pityophis melanoleucus, 73. 
Plethodon cinereus, 42. 
Plethodon cinereus erythronotus, 43. 
Plethodon glut in osu ft, 44. 
Porcupine, 117, 204, 254. 
Portland, Me., 14. 
Procyon lotor. 202. 
Profile Lake, Frauconia Notch, N. H., 

276. 
Purple finch, 6. 
Putorius cicognani, 128. 
Putorius erminea, 129, 136. 
Putorius nigripes, 139. 
Putorius noveboracensis, 129, 136. 
Putorius rixosus. 130. 
Putorius visor, 147. 
Putorius vulgaris, 128. 



Rabbit, Gray. 246. 259. 

Raccoon, 119, 202. 

Bana catesbiana, 13. 23. 29. 

Bona clamata. 23. 27. 
Bana halecina. 23. 24. 
Bana palustris, 23. 25. 
Bana septentrionalis, 23, 26. 
Bana sylvatica. 23. 25. 33. 
Bana virescens, 23. 24. 
Bana virescens virescens, 23. 
Raquette Lake, Adirondacks, 112. 
Rattlesnake. Northern; 58. 06. 74. 241. 
Red Rock. New Brunswick, Canada, 

190. 
Redstart. 93. 
Begina leberis, 78. 
Robin. 81. 
Rooster's crow. 86. 

Sable. American, 121. 
Salamander, Black. 55. 
Salamander, Ocher-colored, 54. 
Salamander, Red, 47. 
Salamander, Red-backed, 43. 
Salamander, Sticky. 44. 
Salamander. Tiger-spotted. 40. 
Salamander. Two-striped, 45. 
Salamander, Violet. 39. 
Sandwich Dome, White Mountains, 

188. 
Sapsucker. 204. 

SciurojDterus volans volans, 275. 
Sciuropterus volucella. 275. 
Sciurus carolinensis leucotis, 276. 
Sciurus hudsonius, 266. 
Sciurus hudsonicus hudsonicus, 266. 
Setophaga rut ic ilia. 93. 
Seventh Lake, Adirondacks. 149. 
Sheldrake. Red-breasted, 104. 
Skunk. 153. 161. 
Skunk perfume. 173. 
Slide 31ountain. Catskills, 197. 
Snake. Black. 73. 
Snake. Brown, 76. 
Snake. Bull. 73. 
SnaJte. Chain. 69. 
Snake. Copperhead, 58, 68. 
Snake, Fox. 72. 



2S4: FAMILIAR LIFE W FIELD AND FOREST. 



Snake, Garter, 75. 

Snake, Grass, 71. 

Snake, Green, 59, 71. 

Snake, Ground, 68. 

Snake, Hognose, 79. 

Snake, House, 70. 

Snake, King, 70. 

Snake, Kirtland's, 77. 

Snake, Milk, 70. 

Snake, Mountain black, 72. 

Snake, Pilot, 72. 

Snake, Pine, 73. 

Snake, Queen, 78. 

Snake, Racer, 59, 73. 

Snake, Rattle-, 58, 66, 74. 

Snake, Red bellied, 76. 

Snake, Ribbon, 74. 

Snake, Ring-necked, 71. 

Snake, Southern green, 72. 

Snake, Spotted, 76. 

Snake, Striped, 74. 

Snake, Water, 59, 77. 

Snake, Western garter, 74. 

Snake, Worm, 69. 

Snowberry, Creeping, 110, 188. 

Spelerpes bilineatus, 15. 

Spelerpes rubra, 47. 

Squam Lake, 46. 

Squirrel, Black, 277. 

Squirrel, Flying, 251, 274. 

Squirrel, Ground, 134. 

Squirrel, Northern gray, 251, 27 

Squirrel, Red, 208, 266. 

Stake-driver, 96. 

Stoat, 136. 

Storeria dekayi, 76. 

Storeria occipitomaculata, 76. 

Tamias listerii, 272. 
Tamias neglectus, 272. 
Tamias quadrivitatus, 272. 
Tamias striatus, 272. 
Taxidea americana, 154. 



Thrush, Hermit, 88. 

Thuja occidentalism 232. 

Toad, Common, 18. 

Toad, Tree, 5, 8, 14. 

Trenton, N. J., 219. 

Tropidoclonium kirtlandi, 77. 

Trout Lake, St. Lawrence County, 
N. Y., 102. 

Tardus aonalaschkce pallasii, 88. 

Turdus fuscescens, 91. 

Turtle. 204. 

Twin Mountain House, White Moun- 
tains, 183. 

Urinator imber, 101. 

Urocyon cinereoargenteus, 223. 

Ursus americanus, 180. 

Veery, 91. 

Vulpes argentatus, 224. 
Vulpes decussatus, 224. 
Vulpes macrurus. 224. 
Vulpes pennsylvanicus, 213. 
Vulpes vulpes, 216. 

Waterville, N. H., 187. 

Weasel, Larger, 129, 136. 

Weasel, Little brown, 128, 204. 

Wenusk, 245. 

White Mountains, N. H., 47, 59, 182, 

190, 235. 
Wintergreen, 110, 186, 233. 
Wolf, 225. 
Wolverene, 113. 
Woodchuck, 204, 245. 
Woodchuck's day, 250. 
Woodpecker, Golden-winged, 87. 
Wood pewee, 94. 

Yellow-hammer, 87. 
Yellowstone Park, 192. 

Zoological Garden, Cincinnati, 193. 



THE END. 



F 



D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 

AM I LIAR FLOWERS OF FIELD AXD 
GARDEN. By F. Schuyler Mathews. Illustrated with 
2CO Drawings by the Author, and containing an elaborate Ivdex 
showing at a glance the botanical and popular names, family, 
color, locality, environment, and time of bloom of several hun- 
dred flowers. i2mo. Library Edition, cloth, $1.75 ; Pocket 
Edition, flexible covers, $2.25. 

In this convenient and useful volume the flowers which one finds in the fields are 
identified, illustrated, and described in familiar language. Their connection with gar- 
den floweri is made clear. Particular attention is drawn to the beautiful ones which 
have come under cultivation, and, as the title indicates, the book furnishes a ready 
guide to a knowledge of wild and cultivated flowers alike. 

"I have examined Mr. Mathews's little book upon 'Familiar Flowers of Field and 
Garden,' and I have pleasure in commending the accuracy and beauty of the drawings 
and the freshness of the text. We have long needed some botany from the hand of an 
artist, who sees form and color without the formality of the scientist. The book deserves 
a reputation. v — L. H. Bailey ', Professor of Horticulture, Cornell University. 

" I am much pleased with your 'Familiar Flowers of Field and Garden.' It is a 
useful and handsomely prepared handbook, and the elaborate index is an especially 
valuable part of it. Taken in connection with the many caieiul drawings, it would 
seem as though your little volume thoroughly covers its subject." — Louis Prang. 

"The author describes in a most interesting and charming manner many familiar 
wild and cultivated plants, enlivening his remarks by crisp epigrams, and rendering 
identification of the subjects described simple by means of some two hundred draw- 
ings from Nature, made by his own pen. . . . The book will do much to more fully 
acquaint the reader with those plants of field and garden treated upon with which he 
may be but partly familiar, and go a long way toward correcting many popular 
errors existing in the matter of colors of their flowers, a subject to which Mr. Mathews 
has devoted much attention, and on which he is now a recognized authority in the 
trade." — New York Florists' Exchange. 

"A book of much value and interest, admirably arranged for the student and the 
lover of flowers. . . . The text is full of compact information, well selected and interest- 
ingly presented. ... It seems to us to be a most attractive handbook of its kind." — 
New York Sun. 

"A delightful book and very useful. Its language is plain and familiar, and the 
illustrations are dainty works of art. It is just the book for those who want to be 
familiar with the well-known flowers, those that grow in the cultivated gardens as well 
as those that blossom in the fields." — Newark Daily Advertiser. 

"Seasonable and valuable. The young botanist and the lover of flowers, who have 
only studied from Nature, will be greatly aided by this work." — Pittsburg Post. 

" Charmingly written, and to any one who loves the flowers— and who does not ?— => 
will prove no less fascinating than instructive. It will open up in the garden and the 
fields a new world full of curiosity and delight, and invest them with a new interest in 
his sight." — Christian Work. 

" One need not be deeply read in floral lore to be interested in what Mr. Mathews 
has written, and the more proficient one is therein the greater his satisfaction is likely 
to be." — New York Mail and Express. 

" Mr. F. Schuyler Mathews's careful description and graceful drawings of our 
' Familiar Flowers of Field and Garden ' are fitted to make them familiar even to those 
who have not before made their acquaintance." — New York Evening Post. 



New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 



D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 

P AM I LIAR TREES AND THEIR LEAVES. 

*• By F. Schuyler Mathews, author of " Familiar Flowers of 
Field and Garden," " The Beautiful Flower Garden," etc. Il- 
lustrated with over 200 Drawings from Nature by the Author 
i2mo. Cloth, $1.75. 

C(5 It is not often that we find a book which deserves such unreserved commendation 
It is commendable for several reasons : it is a book that has been needed for a long 
time, it is written in a popular and attractive style, it is accurately and profusely illus- 
trated, and it is by an authority on the subject of which it treats." — Public Opinion. 

" Most readers of the book will find a world of information they never dreamed of 
about leaves that have long been familiar with them. The study will open to them 
new sources of pleasure in every tree around their houses, and prove interesting as well 
as instructive." — San Francisco Call. 

"A revelation of the sweets and joys of natural things that we are too apt to pass 
by with but little or no thought. The book is somewhat more than an ordinary botan- 
ical treatise on leaves and trees. It is a heart-to heart talk with Nature, a true appre- 
ciation of the beauty and the real usefulness of leaves and trees." — Boston Courier. 

" Has about it a simplicity and a directness of purpose that appeal at once to every 
lover of Nature." — New York Mail and Express. 

" Mr. Mathews's book is just what is needed to open our eyes. His text is charm- 
ing, and displays a loving and intimate acquaintance with tree life, while the drawings 
of foliage are beautifully executed. We commend the volume as a welcome companion 
in country walks." — Philadelphia Public Ledger. 

"The book is one to read, and then to keep at hand for continual reference."— 
Chicago Dial. 

"The unscientific lover of Nature will find this book a source of enjoyment as well 
as of instruction, and it will be a valuable introduction to the more scientific study of 
the subject." — Cleveland Plain Dealer. 

" This book will be found most satisfactory. It is a book which is needed, written 
by one who knows trees as he knows people." — Minneapolis Journal. 

" A book of large value to the student. The reader gathers a wide and valuable 
knowledge which will awaken new interest in every tramp through the forest." — Chi- 
cago Inter-Ocean. 

"A most admirable volume in many ways. Tt meets a distinct and widely felt 
want ; the work is excellently done ; its appearance is very timely. . . . Written in a 
clear and simple style, and requires no previous technical knowledge of botany to under- 
stand it." — Baltimore News. 

" This very valuable book will be prized by all who love Nature." — The Churchman, 

" Of the many Nature books that are constantly inviting the reader to leave pave- 
ment and wander in country bypaths, this one, with its scientific foundation, and its 
simplicity and clearness of style, is among the most alluring." — St. Patd Pioneer-Press, 



New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 



F 



AMILIAR FEATURES OF THE ROAD- 
SIDE. By F. Schuyler Mathews, author of " Familiar 
Flowers of Field and Garden," "Familiar Trees and their 
Leaves," etc. With 130 Illustrations by the Author. l2mo. 
Cloth, §1.75. 

" A faithful guide-book for our roadsides. . . . Can be unhesitatingly commended 
for summer strolls." — New York Evening Post. 

" One who rides, drives, or walks into the country, particularly in these days of 
bicycling, will find this book an invaluable and incessant source of elevating amuse- 
ment." — Philadelphia Press. 

" Deserves to be the guide-book par excellence of the familiar wayside. ... His 
book, taken as a whole, is a treasure." — New York Times. 

" An admirable book for Nature lovers to take with them to the country, for it 
reveals in a delightful way many mysteries of insect and floral life, and comes as an 
exquisite refreshment and welcome instructor." — Boston Tunes. 

" A delightful study of Nature in her manifold forms. . . . Take this trip on the road 
with Mr. Mathews, for he is a very entertaining lecturer, and has personal acquaint- 
ance with buds and flowers." — Minneapolis Journal. 

" The book is certainly a charming one for all lowers of Nature, and can but inspire 
a love of the waysides for any into whose hands it shall come." — Boston Saturday 
Evening Gazette. 

"It is such a book as will direct the attention of its readers to those features of 
everyday life with which they are often unacquainted, because they have never stopped 
to give them attention."— Jersey City Eveni7ig Journal. 

"A beautiful book, and as interesting and instructive as it is beautiful. . . . The 
lessons of the book are enforced so pleasingly as to make every page fascinating." — 
Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

" A book to cany through one's summer wanderings, to quicken one's appreciation 
of common beauties. "--Philadelphia Public Ledger. 

" A book that ou^ht to be in the satchel of every one who takes a vacation ; and 
even stay-at-homes will find a new interest in their surroundings through its perusal." 
— Chicago Advance. 

"A thoroughly charming book alike for the amateur naturalist and the lover of out- 
door life." — Boston Beacon. 

"It is impossible to express the fascination of such a hookas this." — New York 
Commercial Advertiser. 

"The book is one for people who are fond of the country. It is not merely in- 
structive, but is suggestive and stimulating, and helps people to use their own eyes to 
advantage." — Brooklyn Eagle. 

" An introduction to a boundless world for which every lover of Nature will be 
deeply grateful — luminous, learned, appreciative. ... A valuable and delightful 
book." — New Haven Leader. 

11 The book is most interesting and instructive, and will be found to impart useful 
knowledge in a most entertaining manner." — Hartford Post. 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS. 



B 



IRD-LIFE. A Guide to the Study of our Common 
Birds. By Frank M. Chapman, Assistant Curator of Mam- 
malogy and Ornithology, American Museum of Natural His- 
tory ; Author of " Handbook of Birds of Eastern North Amer- 
ica." With 75 full-page Plates and numerous Text Drawings 
by Ernest Seton Thompson. i2mo. Cloth, $1.75. 

" ' Bird-Life ' is different from other books. It deals with birds that are familiar, or 
half familiar ; it interests the ignorant reader at once, and it makes the relations between 
birds and men seem more intimate. The economic value of birds will be better appre- 
ciated after reading this book." — Boston Herald. 

" Contains more information about birds, in the same space, attractively as well as 
concisely stated, than can be found in any other book with which we are acquainted. 
... A delightful, valuable, instructive, entertaining, beautiful book." — Brooklyn 
Standard- Union. 

" Most heartily can ' Bird-Life' be commended. It is by a practical ornithologist, 
but it is simple and comprehensible. It is compact, pointed, clear. . . . The work is 
perfectly reliable. . . . The author uses every line to give information. A straightfor- 
ward and very compact guide-book to bird-land." — Hartford Post. 

" An intelligent consideration of the book will add to the reader's pleasure in his 
walks in field and wood, quicken his ear, make him hear and see things which before 
went unnoticed. . . . Gives the student an introduction to ornithology, which places 
him on the threshold of the entrance to the innermost circles of bird-life." — Boston 
Times. 

" Mr. Chapman's book ought to be as greatly in demand in the average household 
as a history of one's country." — Proviaence Journal. 

" The illustrations are undoubtedly the best bird drawings ever produced in Amer- 
ica." — Recreation . 

"A comprehensive book, one that is sufficient for all the ordinary needs of the 
amateur ornithologist. It is satisfactory in every detail, and arranged with a care and 
method that will draw praise from the highest sources. Every lover of outdoor life will 
find this book a delightful companion and an invaluable aid." — Buffalo Enquirer. 

"A volume exceptionally well adapted to the requirements of people who wish to 
study common birds in the simplest and most profitable manner possible. ... As a 
readily intelligible and authoritative guide this manual has qualities that will commend 
it at once to the attention of the discerning student." — Boston Beacon. 

" Such a study as every intelligent reader will desire to make, even the busiest of 
them. . . . The author is in everyway fitted for the task he has taken, and his book 
abounds in its facts of value, and they are pleasingly and gracefully told." — Chicago 
Inter- Ocean. 

" An interesting mass of data collected through years of study and observation. . . . 
While accurate from a scientific point of view, it makes delightful reading for those who 
will soon be among the flowers and the fields. "' — Philadelphia Inquirer. 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 



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JUN 24 mb 



